


Not Like In The Movies

by Scriblit



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxiety Disorder, David has self esteem issues, David's sexual anecdotes are horrifying, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Laughter During Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, body image issues, patrick is not immediately very good at this, sex going wrong a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-10-12 05:14:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 30,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20558822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scriblit/pseuds/Scriblit
Summary: In real life, sex was never going to be like it was in porn. It was never even going to be like it was in romantic movies, crying out one another's names in delight. Sex is just another part of their relationship, and, like their relationship, it isn't going to be perfect all the time.





	1. Tristan's Poor Broken Car

**Author's Note:**

> This is not an idealised depiction of sex, but nor is it a particularly unpleasant one. It's two guys, one damaged, one very new to this, fumbling together to find their way. And laughing. And talking. And arguing. And making fun. Jokes and angst and bad sex and more jokes!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Real sex is not going to be like a porn movie. For starters, porn movies rarely start with someone getting caught watching a different porn movie, at a desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> David has body image issues; Patrick makes a low-key poor decision, due to being new to all of this. These are going to be running themes, tbh.

One. Tristan’s Poor Broken Car

‘Patrick? What’s going on?’

‘Oh God!’

‘What the fuck?’

‘Oh _God_!’ Patrick fumbled to tuck himself back away: the incriminating evidence still silently playing on his laptop lighting up his half naked body in grotesque shades. ‘I’m so sorry, you weren’t supposed to…’

‘Oh, no, _I’m_ sorry.’ Could David keep up the stern, disappointed boyfriend act up for long? It would be pretty great if he were able to – Patrick looked so embarrassed at getting caught – guilty, even. He’d love to be able to just wring as much as he could out of the situation by maintaining the pretence that he was shocked - _shocked_, Patrick, at discovering his boyfriend sitting in the dark at the other side of his bedroom, masturbating to muted porn. Unfortunately, before he’d even managed to finish saying ‘oh no, _I’m_ sorry’, his shoulders had already started shaking with the giggles. ‘I should have respected your very special alone time in what I assume is your masturbating chair…’ his voice trailed off, laughing too much now at Patrick’s horrified expression.

‘I couldn’t sleep, I didn’t want to wake you…’

‘Mm-hmm.’

‘And I was just… ever since we started getting physical…’

‘Mm-hmm.’

‘I’ve been like a teen again, and you lying next to me and everything, I just had to do something about…’ He gestured down at his ongoing erection.

David was still laughing, as quietly as he could, so as not to wake Ray, across the hall. ‘But why go and do it in that chair? So formal!’

‘I can’t use the bathroom because it’s right opposite Ray’s room and he sleeps with the door open, and I am not doing this next to you as you sleep, good God.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s incredibly disrespectful.’

‘So instead you stayed in the same room as me but went to sit at a desk? Like you had missives to write? “Dear Sir: I must commend you upon your simply glorious ass, but alas I must attend to my own matters this morrow for it appears that you have been taken with a lethargy and needs must not be awoken”…’

‘Dude, I just wanted to get rid of this erection…’

‘_Dude_? Now I’m your dude?’ 

‘I still don’t know what to call you!’

‘You can call me intrigued by your choice of porn.’ David crawled down to the foot of the bed to get a better look at the laptop.

‘It’s not… that’s not meant to be you.’

‘Mmm, good, because I have multiple pounds and years on him. Also I cannot bend like that at all.’

‘No, please don’t compare yourself to…’

‘I wouldn’t dare compare myself to Tristan Juicy – the man’s a master.’

‘You…’ Patrick pointed at the screen. He seemed to relax a little. ‘You watch his movies too?’

David shrugged. ‘Couple, back in the day. It’d feel weird doing it now, seeing as how…’

‘…you’ve got a boyfriend,’ completed Patrick for him.

David pulled a face. ‘Actually, seeing as how…’

‘Oh God. You haven’t.’ Patrick stared from David to the still lurid screen. His expression changed. ‘With… him??’ He closed the laptop, suddenly.

‘Oh God no, not with _him_. Closest I came to that was eating a kirsch cherry out of his navel at a party. ‘But yeah, I know Tristan. And I’m one Kevin Bacon Step away from him. Fuck-wise.’

Patrick pinched together his lips, mortified.

David swung his legs over the foot of the bed, to sit. He gestured to the laptop. ‘It’s OK, I take it you’re new to Gay porn. Let’s take a look at this nonsense.’

Patrick cringed. ‘But it’s your friend…’

‘Oh, he and I were never friends. Let me see.’

Begrudgingly, Patrick opened up the computer and let the video resume its silent playing.

‘Oh,’ David sighed. ‘Poor Tristan, his car has broken down in the absolute middle of nowhere.’

Patrick nodded. ‘Yeah, but this nice man has stopped to help him out.’

‘How kind.’

‘Mm, but first, he had to spank him? For allowing the car to break down and not being able to fix it himself.’

‘Uh huh, I mean that’s fair. I’d certainly expect that if I ever needed a mechanic to fix my… whatever the bit that makes the engine go is called.’

Patrick gave him a small smile.

‘So, to clarify,’ continued David, ‘what drew you to this was the idea of a handy guy…’ he gestured vaguely in Patrick’s direction, ‘dominating a not so handy guy.’ He gestured to himself.

‘I don’t… it’s not… no. I don’t want to start buying whips or whatever that thing is, for us…’

‘That is an anal hook and they can be a lot of fun, although I would be very wary of keeping one in a toolbox like that guy was.’

‘It’s just a dumb video to help me get off,’ Patrick sighed. ‘I literally just searched “gay man femme black hair brown eyes”.’ 

‘Aww. Pan, not Gay, and I don’t identify as fem because I find even the femme butch masc stuff kinda heteronormative and binary, but I’m flattered all the same.’ He twisted a smile at Patrick. He hadn’t finished having fun with this, yet. ‘So is that your usual go-to search criteria? You never narrow it down a bit? Like, “half Jewish, 30s, overeater”…?’

‘You don’t overeat. And… I don’t use Gay porn that much, truth told. Before we met, I still didn’t know what it was that was wrong. And after we met… I didn’t tend to need porn.’

David gave him an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’

Patrick shook his head. ‘I felt guilty enough about masturbating over my business partner on a really, really regular basis. I mean, I had to duck in to the café’s men’s room a couple of times in the days before we opened the store.’ He pauses. ‘And after we opened the store. And on the night we opened the store, when you hugged me and I’d been getting flirty vibes, I just…’ Patrick sighed. ‘Let’s just say, this bed had you in it several times before it actually had you in it.’

‘That’s cute. And for the record, never did it over you in my own bed at the motel because that would be disgusting due to familial proximity, but my shower saw a _lot_ of action between the day we met and my birthday. And a few times after my birthday.’

Patrick pointed at the laptop. ‘Can I turn this off, now? I know the real thing is never going to be like that.’

‘True,’ sighed David. ‘Neither of us has the flexibility to pull off Tristan’s position there, nor the upper body strength to do what the other guy’s doing. Also, if you ever try to use motor oil as a lubricant, I’m calling the police.’

Patrick turned the video off. ‘I’d rather have something real than gymnastics on the screen.’

David started shuffling back into the bed. ‘Oh, you think you’re getting something real, tonight?’

‘I mean,’ said Patrick, getting in to bed with him, ‘You _are_ awake, now. And you disturbed me in my masturbation and correspondence chair.’

David probably would have been more believable, had he not have already pulled a condom from the Sex Drawer. He lay back, lazily, the condom resting on his sternum. ‘Well, _Dude_, maybe we can sort out your problem there, my Dude.’

‘Still making fun of the Dude thing, are we?’

‘Do we want our cock sucked or not, Brah?’

‘”Brah”, now.’

‘Like, straddle my chest, Bro, and if you miss my mouth, you get the sticky pillow, my good Dudelington.’

‘You’re a delight,’ replied Patrick, taking the condom and straddling David’s chest as requested, ‘you know that?’

‘Gnarly, dude.’

‘Why are you talking like a 90s surfer, now?’

‘Cowabunga.’

‘Please don’t say “Cowabunga” while you’re sucking my…’

‘Vowavunga!’


	2. The Banana Ones, If Anything, Tasted Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick tries giving his very first blowjob, at his big age. It does not go to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A blowjob going wrong, mention of events in David's past which were consensual but not at all healthy.

Two – The Banana Ones, If Anything, Tasted Worse

One got used to having to have sex really quietly, after a while. David didn’t mind it, really. At least in this case it was just because Ray Butani was sleeping only a single closed door away, and not for more illicit reasons. There were some elements of quiet sex that actually he really quite liked: the way each breath and shift of body on bed sheet sounded amplified, the reliance on body language and gestures to communicate. It felt more intimate. Almost sacred, like a wordless prayer in the dark up to the gods of equal love. And of course, there was the case of why it was he had to be quiet – because Ray Butani’s spare room was where the hottest, nicest guy ever to so much as show interest in him lived, and because he wasn’t just showing interest, they were actively dating, and kissing and fooling around and so much more and now, oh God, he had offered to go down on him and he was going to get to come… in a condom, admittedly, David was clean and believed that Patrick was too, but they’d decided not to do anything unsheathed until they’d both been tested, just to be sure, because, hello trust issues, he’d been burned on that front before. But he was going to get to come in a condom in this man’s mouth and then he was going to get _him_ to come in a condom in _his_ mouth, and then he was going to get to go to sleep in a double bed with another man like a god damn adult and wake up with him next to him, and probably with Ray talking at them, but that was beside the point.

It didn’t feel as debauched as it would without a condom, and the flavoured latex stank of plasticky, sweet chemicals, and he did. Not. Care. He’d been tense and needy all day, and this was the first time Patrick had felt ready to use his mouth, so he was already very close, after only a few minutes. This was going to be an extremely easy first blow job for Patrick, the lucky thing. He clutched at Patrick’s shoulder as the wave crested – not at his head, because gentlemen do not head-push without invitation – and Patrick responded to his wordless communication by going a little deeper…

And gagged.

Oh, shit.

The sudden sensation pushed David over the edge unwillingly, right at the same moment that Patrick had to pull his head up off him, visibly fighting back the urge to vomit. Horrified, and by now untouched, David bucked automatically into the empty night, helplessly coming into the unpleasant smelling condom, watching the man between his thighs gag, a hand over his mouth and embarrassment in his eyes.

Patrick pulled his hand away from his mouth, coughed, swallowed and coughed again.

‘Oh God,’ he whispered. ‘Oh, God, I’m so sorry. Have you, uh…’

David nodded, very much not loving the sensation of the cooling, wet condom.

‘Was… any of it while I was sucking you, or…?’

David shook his head. ‘Let me just… where are the tissues?’

Patrick pulled a wad of toilet paper off a spare roll, still apologizing as he did, and handed it over to David.

‘Just get myself… tidied up,’ muttered David, ‘and out of this very bright pink monstrosity.’

‘Yeah, that thing does _not_ taste like strawberry.’

‘Mm-hmm, well I have been running the gamut on the fruit salad selection box thus far, and when I find one that actually does taste of fruit, I shall let you know. We can have a little party.’ He wadded the foul smelling latex in toilet paper and threw it into the bin.

‘I am so, so sorry, David, I wanted this to be so good for you, and…’

‘It’s OK, I used to gag all the time when I was starting out. Would it help you if I manscaped? Sometimes it’s the hairs, some people don’t like mouth hair.’

‘No, no, I really like the body hair. _Really_ like it, it makes you feel so completely different to girls.’

‘Oh, I’ve been with women almost as hairy as me, you’ve just been dating the wrong ladies.’

‘I think at this point, we can take it as read that _all_ ladies have been ‘the wrong ladies’ for me.’

‘Fair.’

‘I like men’s bodies. _Your_ body. I like your body, and I want to be able to give you head. It’s just… it feels too big, in my mouth.’

David pulled Patrick in for a hug. ‘You’ve been watching porn. You know full well I’m not that big. OK? But I’m also going to blame the porn for you thinking you can just go in full-throated on your first try.’

‘You can do it.’

‘Oh my God, of course _I_ can, I’ve been sucking dick since High School. And in the words of a great man, who I am by legal contract obliged not to name; “it’s OK if you can’t take it all in, just work the head with your mouth, and co-ordinate with a lubed-up hand on the shaft”.’

‘Who the hell said that to you?’

‘Just said I can’t tell you. Don’t worry, it was all consensual and he has an understanding with his wife, but he needed to rely on my discretion for the sake of his career.’ 

‘Could we… pretend that that information was coming from you and not what I’m assuming was some B List Hollywood creep more than twice your age?’

‘A very astute guess, but yes, fine.’ David got down onto the floor, between Patrick’s legs. ‘In the interest of this unpleasantness never happening again, or worse still, vomit on my dick, which _has_ happened, and was as upsetting as it sounds, may I demonstrate to monsieur a beginner’s cock suck?’

For the first time since the gagging incident, Patrick smiled. ‘You may.’

David reached for another condom, and then faked a shocked expression. ‘Oh, my my,’ he whispered, ‘what is this monster? How am I ever supposed to fit _this_ in my mouth?’

‘Stop making fun.’

‘I’m not.’ He rolled on the condom. ‘OK, so this thing is already lubed, so… one hand on the shaft, may I interest monsieur in a finger up the ass?’

‘Monsieur is still not ready for that just yet.’

‘It feels very good and I should like to request it for myself the next time you try this. OK, so, just the tip in the mouth? Working with the tongue…’

He demonstrated for a second, then pulled off again, disgusted.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘Give me another condom, please. This one’s mango.’


	3. The Monica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the uncomfortable aftermath of Tina Turner, there is wine, and a stain on the stockroom floor, and talk of trust, exes and Friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No particular warnings for this chapter, but David's anecdotes continue to be alarming & Patrick continues to feel guilty about what he hasn't quite come clean over, just yet.

Three – The Monica

‘OK, so…’ Patrick stopped, and started again. ‘So. Uh.’

‘We should probably mop this floor,’ said David.

‘Do you even know where we keep the mop?’

David closed his eyes for a moment. ‘_You_ should probably mop this floor.’

‘So, I’ve got my same old David back, then.’ Patrick passed the bottle of wine they were sharing back to his back-on-again boyfriend.

David took a slug from the bottle. It wasn’t particularly elegant, but neither were they, right now, naked and sticky in the stock room.

‘To be fair, Patrick, I just did a very sexy dance for you…’

‘_Very_ sexy, yes.’

‘And then took it in the ass on the very hard floor, which hurt my knees, even though _you_ were the one with a secret fiancée, so I think I’m owed the favour of you locating and utilizing the mop.’

‘Did I really hurt your knees?’

David pointed to the reddened scuffs.

‘Shit, sorry.’

David shrugged. ‘Worth it. Once you’ve mopped, that is.’

He handed back the wine, and Patrick drank.

‘So,’ said Patrick again after a while. ‘I know at Stevie’s we said we’d box it up…’

‘_You_ said to box it up, and now I know why. Wine, please.’

‘But, I think what happened at the barbecue was a wake-up call. Our pasts aren’t just our pasts, our pasts have shaped us both, and they might catch up with us again some day, so I don’t want either of us to have another nasty surprise.’

‘What are you saying?’ David wiped a drop of wine from his chin and passed back the bottle. ‘You want, like, my Sex CV or something?’

‘I just… I want you to know, nothing’s going to shock or upset me, or turn me off you. If you ever want to tell me anything, I’m not going to judge you or think any less of you.’

David didn’t say anything. Patrick handed the wine back again without drinking, and kept talking.

‘You’re the fourth person I’ve been with. Fifth, if you count an anonymous fumble in a nightclub, back when I thought maybe casual sex with a woman might be the answer, and very quickly realized that that was wrong, too.’ He cleared his throat, and counted off on his fingers. ‘Rachel, in high school, then we broke up after the first semester of college and I dated Yun-hui for a year, then Rachel again after graduation, then Alicia while Rachel and I were on a break, then Rachel again, then nightclub girl I guess, then you.’

David was watching him, holding the wine, his expression not in the slightest bit serious, given Patrick had just spilled his whole sad little romantic history out to him.

‘What? I know four’s a pathetic number at my age, but…’

‘While you and Rachel were on a break.’

‘I don’t…’

‘While you.’ A very poor Schwimmer impression began to grace the stock room. ‘Were on. A break. With! Rachel.’

‘Stop it.’

‘You were on! A break! Could you _be_?? more on a break?’

Patrick swatted him gently. ‘Stop implying I’m a Ross, that’s offensive.’

‘But you were on! A break! Ross!’

‘Excuse you; I am nothing but Chandler.’

‘You’re not the Chandler; I’m the Chandler.’

Patrick actually laughed out loud in incredulity at that. ‘You are not a Chandler. I’m a Chandler, Stevie’s a Chandler; you, David, are pure Monica.’

‘Oh my God.’ David thought about this. ‘No.’

‘The organizational skills. The hosting. The food snobbery. The neat freakiness. The control freakiness…’

David held the wine between his knees in order to clutch his face. ‘Oh my God, I’m the Monica.’

‘I mean, Monica would have already mopped, so I guess you’re not _all_ Monica.’

‘I’m the Monica.’

‘And Monicas go for Chandlers and vice-versa, so.’

‘Ah yes,’ said David, taking another drink. ‘The six genders. Although actually I have been with a _lot_ of Joeys, and a fair few Phoebes.’ He paused. ‘Low hundreds. I think.’

‘What?’

‘It’s a rough guestimate, since I gave up counting a while ago due to drink, drugs and surprise orgies, but maybe 130 to 150? That’s including “fumbles” though, as far as I’m concerned it’s sex if someone gets their rocks off, it’s not always got to be about penetration.’

‘Wow. OK.’

‘You said you weren’t going to judge.’

‘I’m not judging _you_. You made 150 people come, and none of them wanted to take you home to meet their mother? I’m judging _them_.’

‘That’s very sweet of you, Patrick, but you have also not taken me home to meet your mother yet, so.’

Oh, shit. Yes. That. Patrick took the wine.

‘I’m joking,’ continued David with a small smile. ‘Nobody’s ever pursued me like this, before. Actually wanting to keep me, once they’ve got me. Actively doing stuff to win me back. Didn’t really know what to do about it, as you could probably tell, but I appreciated it all the same. So, I think I can trust you, now. With that big “150-ish” figure. I think I can trust you.’

Patrick didn’t know what to say. From the silence, it seemed that David didn’t, either.

If this were a sitcom, if they really were Monica and Chandler, they’d have a big laugh line that would resolve the scene, and then it’d cut to show whatever slapstick high jinks Joey was up to this time.

They carried on drinking in silence.

Out in his yard, the other side of town, Roland fell off a ladder and got stuck on a rotary laundry line, but nobody saw it happen.


	4. Falafel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On hurt, reconciliation, trust, consent and British people in tents and closets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for this, due to very brief and utterly unintentional disregarding of a safe word, and implications of past non-con. Also, other past emotional distress. Angst heavy.

Four – Falafel

‘We need a safe word.’

‘What? No we don’t. We’re not all fifty shades or anything. Who has the energy for that, in real life?’

‘I would still like one.’

‘David, if you want me to stop doing something, just say “stop”, and I’ll stop. And if I need you to stop, I’ll say “stop”, and I trust you to stop.’

‘You just get very in the zone sometimes, and believe me, I absolutely take that as a compliment, I love it. Just, when one is in the zone, it’s useful to have a safe word. Something incongruous that can’t be mistaken for roleplay, the way, say, “stop” and “no” sometimes can.’

Patrick laced his fingers with David’s as they lay together on the bed, the early evening rain lashing at the window outside, Ray’s TV blaring downstairs. ‘You said you trusted me. Why can’t we just trust each other not to do anything that won’t make the other one uncomfortable?’

‘This is _so_ we can trust each other more.’

‘It feels like it’s you trusting me less.’

‘Just… please? For the avoidance of miscommunication in a heated moment. I think I’m going to go with falafel.’

Patrick sighed. ‘If it’ll make you feel safer.’

David frowned, and after a moment, said ‘is Ray watching the Great British Bake Off?’ He blinked. ‘He is! And I don’t recognize this episode.’ He got out of bed and started pulling on his pants.

‘What is it with you and that show? It’s just cakes, in a tent.’

‘Uh, it’s British people being nice in a _marquee_, in the grounds of a mansion, _and_ multiple baked goods. I just don’t see what’s not to love, here.’ He pulled on his hoodie, and that was the end of any more sex for that evening.

Patrick forgot about Falafel. They’d never need it, anyway. David was always, if anything, too verbal when it came to asking consent. One time, when they’d been drinking together without David, Stevie had asked Patrick ‘does he still say “may I” before doing _anything_?’ He’d nodded and laughed, and then she’d laughed too, and then they’d both felt a little bit bad about it. They had both conceded that the ‘may I’s were cute.

Patrick. Forgot. About. Falafel.

It was about a month after the Bake Off Night. Ray’s was getting too much – all the interruptions. All the chat. The veering into the inappropriate, especially when David was around. Patrick had splashed out on a nice hotel room for the night, out of town. A nice hotel room with a huge, and sturdy closet. They took turns tying each other to the coat rail and teasing the other with lips, tongues, fingers, and for some reason, a sock, while the other man giggled and pretended to struggle helplessly. David came up with an absurd roleplay idea where they were both competing semen thieves, seeing who could be the first to steal the other man’s sperm.

‘That’s right, me old mucker,’ said David in a dreadful English accent, even though Patrick couldn’t remember at what point his character had become English, or indeed why, ‘you just stay there, all helpless to defend yourself while I suck the ejaculate right out of you with me hot, wet, British gob.’

‘You English fiend!’ He cried to the man kneeling between his splayed legs. He pretended to try to get out of the loosely knotted belt holding his hands to the rail. ‘You’ll never get away with this.’

David looked up from licking Patrick’s thigh. ‘Oh, I’ve already gotten away with it, what what what and a pot of tea, the British consulate is ready and waiting to pull the semen straight from me gullet, using syringes, and then post them off to CERN.’

‘Not the mad scientists at CERN!’

‘Yes, the mad scientists at CERN! They’re going to make an army of sexy clones, old sport.’

‘But I heard from my contact at CERN that stomach acid would ruin the sperms.’

David stood up. ‘Then I shall simply have to transport the sperms in my arse, for Queen and country.’

Patrick pulled his hands free from the belt, for the third time that evening, and grabbed David. ‘Ha ha! You fell for my cunning plot!’

‘Drat it all! Foiled again!’ David held his own hands up for his turn being strapped to the rail.

‘No.’ Patrick pulled David’s hands behind his back instead, and gently shoved him out of the closet, without taking a moment to think about the irony of that imagery. ‘I’ve got a new idea, Double-Oh-Seven.’

‘Oh, is that who I was being?’

‘Honestly? I have no idea. But I do know you look just as good as him in a suit. And out of one.’

‘Daniel Craig is 50 though, so that’s not the compliment to me that you were probably intending.’

With both of them now out of the closet, Patrick turned David to face it, and closed the door. The door was paneled with a full length mirror, meaning Patrick suddenly had a complete view of his extremely naked boyfriend from both the front and behind.

They were two very good views. Patrick was a great lover of natural beauty and besides a couple of cosmetic tweaks from earlier years, to him, David was humanity’s answer to a National Park. One of the good ones. With a glacier or something.

‘Er…’ said David.

‘Look at you,’ murmured Patrick into the crook of David’s neck.

‘Yes. What a lot of me there is, all of a sudden.’ David turned away from the reflection, to face Patrick. ‘Why don’t we move this to the bed?’

‘Did you just call yourself fat, again?’ Patrick turned David round once more. ‘Look at yourself!’

David turned back around to Patrick. ‘I already did, I have been looking at myself for many a year. I would rather look at you, preferably from the comfort of this lovely big bed.’

‘No.’ Patrick turned David yet again. ‘I don’t like you being down on yourself all the time. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you always cover yourself up, even when it’s hot out.’

‘I just have beautiful clothes.’

‘You have a beautiful you.’ David squirmed a little, like they had been during the game in the closet. Patrick kept a hold of him. ‘I just want you to see it. Look at yourself – really look at yourself.’

‘I don’t want to.’

Patrick wrapped his arms around David.

‘Come along, James Bond, do it for England.’

‘I wasn’t being James Bond, he’s a misogynist, I was being a different British Guy, and the British Guy wants to rest his loaf of bread in Bedfordshire, what what and gor blimey.’ 

David tried to twist around again, but Patrick was having none of it. He’d been thinking about doing this ever since he saw the mirror. He knew how good David looked, he only wished David would see it too – even if it was to allay Patrick’s fears that some day there’d be a spell of really hot weather, and David would mohair and leather his way to a heatstroke collapse.

David had lost his erection after several minutes without being touched, so Patrick slipped a hand down towards David’s crotch.

‘Well then, Mister English Guy, how’s about I incentivise you to take in this lovely view for a moment? Prettier than a punt on the jolly old Thames.’

‘OK, enough.’

‘But you’re too pretty.’

David tried to pull away. ‘This is lovely, but I want the bed.’

Patrick pulled him back, with another kiss to the neck. ‘Will you stop being so bratty and accept that you are a beautiful man, with a beautiful…’

‘Falafel.’

Patrick laughed, still holding David to face the mirror. ‘What?’

‘Falafel!’ There was real panic in David’s voice, now, and suddenly Patrick remembered. He let go, his hands raised, shame flooding into his chest. ‘Falafel! Falafel!’ David darted away from the mirror to the corner of the room, like a frightened cat.

‘David.’ Patrick didn’t know what to do. ‘I am so, so sorry.’

David took a moment to compose himself. ‘It’s OK. It’s OK.’

‘No, it’s not! I…’

‘You stopped.’

‘Not when you asked me to. And then…’

‘That’s what the safe word’s for. You see now why we needed it?’

Patrick nodded, miserably. ‘I didn’t want to be the kind of guy whose boyfriend needs a safe word.’ (_and you didn’t stop the first time he said the safe word, either. that’s bad, patrick. that’s really, really bad_)

‘Well, now you see why I do. Sometimes weird things can make me uncomfortable, it can cause confusion.’

‘I just thought…’ Patrick waved his arms at the mirror. ‘You and Stevie showed me that room you used to use. The mirror there…’

‘We were high as fuck the first time, and I still hated the mirror. And then the other few times, we made a sort of a tent out of the sheets so neither of us had to look at it.’

‘You said it was funny.’

‘It was hilarious. We were high, and she is pretty, and I looked like an elephant trying to get busy with a gazelle, and that whole set-up crashed and burned after like a week anyway.’

‘I just wish you didn’t hate your body. I _love_ your body.’

‘I don’t hate my body. I just have a complicated relationship with it.’ David had started edging out of the corner, towards the bed. Patrick still didn’t know if it was OK to approach him, after the breach of trust. 

‘Am I forgiven?’

‘For what? For trying to be nice?’ David got in to bed. ‘I’m sorry I freaked out.’

(_so he’s just going to pretend that the first falafel didn’t happen, then_)

Patrick started slowly approaching the bed, watching David carefully, in case he flinched. ‘Please don’t apologise for this. This is absolutely my bad.’ 

David’s body language at his approach was neutral, so instead of getting in with him, Patrick perched at the side of the bed.

‘You said you trusted me. I don’t ever want to undermine that.’

David gave him a non-committal David-nod; lips bitten in, eyebrows high, gaze cast up to the ceiling.

‘So, I’m going to make sure I always, always stop at the very first falafel, but my intention is that we never get to a point where you feel you need to say it again.’

‘OK, but what if we’re having actual falafels, because they’re very delicious, and I’m trying to do meat free Mondays right now?’

They shared a small smile. David patted the bed as an invitation to get in.

‘And there really is no shame in using a safe word,’ David continued as Patrick got under the bedcover. ‘It’s only bad if it gets ignored.’

Patrick watched David’s face for a moment, their bodies still not touching under the cover, and then the question that had been preying on his mind since he’d started getting to know David suddenly spilled out.

‘Who hurt you?’

He was horrified to hear the words said out loud as soon as he’d said them. Between that and missing the first falafel, he was _really_ killing the buzz on their expensive night away.

David blinked a couple of times, casting his gaze back up to the ceiling. ‘Well, that is a deceptively short and simple question, with an incredibly long and complicated answer, which I would rather not go in to.’

‘Why not?’ Wow, he was _still_ really throttling that mood, still, but he reckoned he was in so deep now that he may as well just keep on digging. ‘Your sister comes out with these horrifying anecdotes about really upsetting stuff all the time, but as if they were just funny things that happened to her, like they don’t affect her these days in the slightest. Like she’s laminated, the trauma just falls straight off her.’

‘Oh, that’s just her way of coping with it, trust me, some of those men need locking up.’

‘And what’s your coping mechanism? Because you’re carrying something around inside of you that you just won’t let out, and it’s so thick and heavy that sometimes I can’t bear watching you hold it…’

David snorted a little laugh. ‘Is that a butt plug analogy?’

‘No it is not, and please, I’m being serious. I know dark shit has happened in your past, and I feel like if maybe I knew about it, I’d be able to be more careful about upsetting you.’ He touched David’s arm, lightly. ‘If you really don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to. But you trusted me with “150”. You can trust me with whatever it is you’re carrying. I promise.’

There was a long pause.

‘We all hurt each other,’ David told him, eventually. ‘That’s just life. Maybe I’m more sensitive to that than others. But I guess I’ve always seen myself as kind of… shop spoiled, and other people have often agreed with that conclusion. Like I’m a sort of human sample pot, to be tried out and left on the counter with a big finger-mark in me. And I let them, because that’s what I felt I was worth, and because like an idiot, I thought maybe that’s how I could get people to like me.’ He paused. ‘And, I decided pretty early on to start giving people a safe word, because “please stop” didn’t always work out for me.’

‘Christ,’ 

‘Bet you’re sorry you asked, now.’

‘No,’ replied Patrick, matter of factly, ‘I’m not.’

‘I mean, since we’re down this dark hole anyway, I may as well just come out and say that the safe word didn’t always work out for me, either.’

Patrick nodded. ‘Thank you for telling me,’ he said, keeping his tone deliberately controlled. ‘Thank you for trusting me with that.’

(_and after you betrayed his trust; ignored the first falafel. you don’t deserve this_)

‘But most of the time, it was just… getting ignored, getting dropped, getting cheated on, getting treated as a dirty little secret, getting chewed up and spat out. Poor boundaries, non-existent ground rules, bad communication… I mean, there was this one guy I was really into, whose fiancée showed up at a family barbeque, humiliating me in front of my sister and parents, can you believe?’ 

‘David, that’s terrible. I certainly hope that that was mostly a misunderstanding, the fiancée was an ex who had boundary issues of her own and that the boyfriend apologized profusely for weeks, giving you lots of breathing space and presents?’

‘You asked who hurt me, it still hurt even if we made up afterwards…’ David trailed off. ‘Never repeat what I’m about to say?’

‘Of course.’

‘Stevie,’ said David. ‘Don’t ever tell her this, but Stevie really fucking hurt.’

‘What?’

‘She didn’t mean it, and if you were to ever get her to spill her feelings like this, I bet she’d claim it was me who hurt her. But, God. She wrecked my heart, like, I literally felt it fall out through my stomach, and it didn’t come back for weeks.’ 

‘Neither of you ever really went into… I assumed it just fizzled out.’

David shook his head. ‘There was too much fizzle. And she said she wanted to keep things casual, date other guys, and I did not like that. And I could see myself losing her completely, which I couldn’t bear, so I shut that physical side of things down, like lopping off an arm trapped under a boulder, so that James Franco can live and swim and learn to love hiking again. And I thought that we would be OK. And then I thought we might be able to escape to the city and I asked her to be roomies, and she went and fuckzoned me. Like… like the opposite of that ‘friendzone’ bullshit? Said she still liked me romantically, and she couldn’t bear for it to be just me and her in a two bed apartment because being my friend wasn’t enough. And I felt like I’d just completely screwed everything up; my one connection I’d made with another human being since coming to town. But also I felt like I’d always been left feeling before. Like a dick and an asshole and a mouth, attached to… to an afterthought, to a stupid bag of meat that isn’t good enough.’ He paused. ‘Anyway, that’s when I stole a truck and joined the Amish.’

There was nothing Patrick could say except ‘OK’.

‘We straightened things out in the end,’ David told him. ‘We’re great now, she's my best friend, we even tried seeing if the fizzle was still there, long before you, still, and thankfully by then, it _had_, in fact, fizzled out.’ He paused again, touching Patrick lightly on the shoulder, a gesture of reconciliation. ‘And that’s who hurt me. Everyone. Scumbags, lovers, friends, most of all, I guess, myself. And now, please, never ask me about the sadness of my past ever again.’

Patrick ran the back of a hand over David’s hair. ‘The Amish, though?’

David gave him a small, twisted smile. ‘Falafel on that. Let’s go get some dinner, I’m starving.’

‘You can’t safe word out of telling me about the Amish, that doesn’t seem to be within the spirit of safe words.’

‘Um, well, you needed two falafels before you stopped earlier, so I figured I was due my own misuse.’ David patted him on the head. ‘Now we’re square. Please don’t do that again.’


	5. The Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which sex is interrupted by Patrick freaking out a little, amongst other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for dissociation during sex, although the one described is a mild, passing moment. And as usual, David's anecdotes are horrible.

Five - The Stranger

Well, this was nice. Funnily enough, not that many of David’s previous 150-or-so had been into getting him to be the giver, when it came to anal. Not that he ever complained; there were plenty of other things he enjoyed doing. It had taken months of tentative fingers, toys and tongue for Patrick to shyly tell him that he’d like to know how it felt to get fucked in that way, and that he’d like David to feel as good as he always did on those occasions when it was him fucking David.

And, God, Patrick’s appreciation was noted when it came to the giving of the anal. The first time, at Stevie’s, had also been the only time they’d had the opportunity to make any sort of noise about it, but besides a muted, almost proud ‘holy shit’ when he’d first entered David, the whole act had taken place in a strange hush of what felt like reverence, face to face in the dark, up until the first climax - which had come super fast, but again, David wasn’t complaining – and even then, it had all been so quiet that every tiny noise had felt amplified. The creaks of Stevie’s cheap old bed, the sometimes soft, sometimes obscene sounds of their bodies moving together, the huff of their breaths, and Patrick’s voice, found once more, but suppressed to a whisper, and with a vocabulary pared right down to a single word, breathed over and over again into David’s ear, the end inflection rising every time, like he was repeatedly asking David a question: ‘fuck? fuck? fuck? fuck??’

Holy: that’s what it had been to David. Silent night, holy night, filled with the murmured psalm of ‘fuck?? fuck??? fuck??’

They did it twice that night, as if teenagers with absolutely no regard for how men well over thirty should look after themselves had taken over both of their bodies. David had been sore for the whole next day, and his hair had been _wrecked_. It was awesome.

And now, here they were again, in the dark and the quiet, with a new prayer, and, yeah, this felt pretty amazing, Patrick in his lap, rocking, rocking, his cock in David’s hand, pressed against their bellies. Patrick wasn’t quietly asking ‘fuck?’ this time. He was completely quiet, his head resting in the crook of David’s neck.

‘you ok there?’ David’s voice was a whisper. ‘want to stop?’

It was like stirring Patrick from a dream. He turned his face to David’s, and for a moment he looked miles away. He shook his head, no he did not want to stop, but as his gaze focused on David’s, he frowned. He shook his head harder, as if trying to dislodge something.

Something was wrong.

‘Would you like a falafel right now?’

‘I… don’t…’ Patrick had stopped rocking. He looked away from David, suddenly, turning his face up towards the ceiling, frustrated and somehow lost.

‘There’s no shame on leaving this for now and trying again some other time.’

‘I’m fine,’ murmured Patrick through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll be fine, I just… I get this weird thing sometimes. I thought it had stopped, but… guess not. I just need a minute, OK?’

‘What weird thing?’

‘Sometimes I kind of slip off into a fantasy during sex, and then when I’m pulled out of it suddenly, it’s like… I don’t recognize the other person. I know you’re David, but also… it’s like I don’t, like you’re a stranger, or…’

‘OK, well, I would like you to do this with me, not a stranger, so would you mind getting off my dick for a while?’

Patrick obliges, embarrassed. It’s even more embarrassing, since it takes them a while to perform a safe and pain free dismount.

‘It’s fine,’ he repeats. ‘I just need a moment, and then we can get right back. This used to happen all the time.’

‘With Rachel.’

‘…yeah.’

‘Who you weren’t actually attracted to.’

‘It’s not that! Not with… trust me, David, lack of attraction is not an issue, with us. I hardly ever fantasise these days. _You’re _ the fantasy.’

‘But this time was different.’ David paused. ‘In the words of a great man…’

‘_This_ guy, again…’

‘You don’t have to take it in the ass if you’re uncomfortable with that.’

‘But you do it.’

‘I like it! I was hoping you would too, but there’s no great tragedy if you don’t, it’s like me with beer – I just don’t see the appeal. Doesn’t mean I can’t drink with you.’

‘I’m a gay man, aren’t I supposed to…’

‘Oh my God, you’re being ridiculous. That just means you’re a guy who exclusively likes guys, there’s no rule book. I have been with _so_ many guys who don’t want to bottom. I’ve been with guys who just want to cuddle. One guy who wanted to tie me to a chair, write on me in lipstick and then masturbate into a glove puppet, that was a weird afternoon. I’ve been with straight ciswomen who hate PIV. Been with a straight woman who just wanted to peg me and call me Princess.’

‘Yikes.’

‘It was actually fun, we went very Disney. But you see? People are into what they’re into, and it’s fine if they’re not. You would not be lacking in any way if there were one thing you didn’t like so much.’

‘Or maybe this is just like the blow jobs again, I just need practice.’

‘You never dissociated during the early blow jobs.’

‘I’m not dissociating.’

David pulled his best ‘really, though?’ face at him.

‘You’re being over the top, David.’

‘_You’re_ being over the top.’

Patrick actually looked relieved. ‘There you are, you see, I recognize you again, now that you’re being annoying.’

‘I do my best. But you _are_ being over the top, I really don’t see why you feel the need to push yourself into doing this one particular thing.’

‘Because we’re meant to be equal.’

‘We are.’

‘And I don’t want to be another Sebastien Raine or Jake Whatsisname, or that creepy old actor you won’t name, or any other of _those_ horrible, toppy guys who just fucked you in the ass, and…’

Patrick stopped talking suddenly, at the sound of the light being switched on in Ray’s bedroom. They both listened in silence as Ray padded out of his bedroom, into the bathroom and shut the door.

‘And left you feeling crappy and used,’ continued Patrick in a whisper.

‘OK, so firstly, that’s so sweet; secondly, when the Sebastiens of this world were doing that, it was fucking me in the ass. When we do it, it’s making love. Huge difference. And thirdly, it wasn’t the sex that made me feel crappy with those guys, it was everything else, and you’re not like that. You’re nice, you are genuinely nice and good, and you don’t need to take it in the butt to…’

David stopped this time, as the bathroom door opened and Ray walked back to his room.

‘To be those things,’ he completed.

‘I’d still like to try again,’ Patrick told him. 

‘If you insist,’ sighed David. ‘But not tonight.’

‘I mean, I’m still definitely keen for _something_, tonight.’

‘Mm, all this talk of fucking me in the ass has put me in the mood to simply switch designated drivers, for tonight.’

‘Maybe not _just_ that. You went to all the trouble of getting me ready for some sort of butt fun tonight, and we do have the plugs in the Sex Drawer.’ Patrick gave him a small smile. ‘You know I like the little vibratey one.’

‘Yes, you do.’

‘So… butt fun for both of us? Me in you, the little vibratey one in me?’

‘Double butt fun sounds like the sort of equality you were aiming for, sure. If you’re sure you won’t zone out and forget who I am, again.’

‘I never forgot who you were. Open your legs for me, please?’

Patrick started off with just one finger. God, he was getting good at this bit.

‘And I won’t zone out. I want to stay right here, with you.’

To be honest, David was starting to wonder whether _he_ should zone out for a bit and try to think of something boring and unsexy, like tax returns or parka coats, because sometimes, just Patrick’s fingers could send him off embarrassingly quickly, and after all this soul searching he really did want to end the evening with some really hot sex.

‘And,’ continued Patrick, quietly, ‘in time, I can graduate to your cock. Maybe I just need a little longer, but I believe in myself.’

‘You’re certainly not a quitter,’ managed David, squirming a little.

‘I heard you guys talking, can you not sleep either?’ Ray’s voice was loud at the bedroom door that, mercifully, he had only opened a crack.

David froze. Patrick pulled the cover over them both with his free hand.

‘We were just talking about…’

‘The store,’ blurted David.

‘Boyfriend stuff,’ continued Patrick, over him. ‘Could you close the door again Ray? We like the door shut at night, remember?’

Ray slightly closed the door again, then paused. ‘Hot tonight, too hot to sleep.’

‘Sure is warm, Ray.’

‘I’m going to get the desk fans from downstairs,’ he continued, conversationally. ‘Did you want one for your room?’

‘No, thank you. Night, Ray.’

‘OK, night!’ Ray closed the door again, and went downstairs.

David shook his head at the man still knuckle-deep in his ass. ‘Seriously, you have to do something about him.’


	6. Infection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange infection takes over the whole of town, with sexy consequences.
> 
> It's just an earworm, but it has sexy consequences all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No TW except the usual one about David having self esteem problems as a result of horrible ex partners.

Six – Infection

No one would have believed, but it was actually Roland who was Patient Zero. It wasn’t his fault, really it wasn’t. He’d been driving with the radio on. That’s how they get you. That’s how the infection started.

Doot. Doot.  
Yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah…  
Doot. Doot.  
Yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah.

Something wormed into him and buried deep, bypassing the conscious parts of his brain. His mind focused on driving, he sang along without even realizing he was doing it.

I think I did it again,  
I made you believe  
We’re more than just friends…

He parked up before another song had the chance to come onto the radio and attempt to neutralize the earworm. He went to bed humming it. It infected Jocelyn at some point in the night.

Oh baybeh,  
It might seem like a crush,  
But it doesn’t mean   
That I’m serious…

Jocelyn rose early, sang to herself in the shower, dressed, had some toast, brushed her hair and teeth, then ran over to the café on the way to work to get pastries for the teachers’ lounge, singing as she went. Nobody knew it yet, but once the infection reached the café, everybody was doomed. Twyla may not have been Patient Zero, but she turned out to be the primary conduit for the infection turning into a town-wide pandemic. Twyla loved to sing as she worked, and raised her treacherously melodic voice as she served breakfasts and brunches.

‘Cause to lose all my senses,   
That is just so typically me,  
Ooh baybeh baybeh

Patrick became infected when he did a tea run at 10.45.

Oops, I did it again,  
I played with your heart,  
Got lost in the game,  
Oh baby baby.

He returned to Rose Apothecary with the teas at 10.55, and very quickly infected his boyfriend.

Oops, you think I’m in love,  
That I’m sent from a-bo-o-o-ove,  
I’m not!  
That!  
Innocent!

David infected Stevie, when she came in to hang out at lunchtime, and that’s how it spread to the motel.

You see, my problem is this,  
Bom bom!  
I’m dreaming away,  
Wishing that heroes, they truly exist.

Johnny got infected while helping Stevie with the sheets.

I cry, tum tum tee tum  
And I know doo doo doo,  
In so many ways.

He would have infected his wife when he met with her for dinner, had Moira, along with Bob, not have already been infected at Town Council by Ronnie, who had taken lunch at the café with Ray, and herself become infected there, by Twyla. By the time Moira got to the café, it was already crawling with infection. She sat with her husband and ate dinner and hummed to herself.

But to lose all my senses,   
That is just so typically mey,  
Beybey, oh…

The whole town. The whole town. Even Ted. Even Alexis. The two paying guests at the motel would be transporting the infection all the way to Vancouver in the morning.

Oops, I did it again,   
I played with your heart,  
Got lost in the game,  
Oh baybeh baybeh  
Oops, you think I’m in love,  
That I’m sent from above!  
I’m not! That! Innocent!  
Doot! Doot!  
Yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah!  
Doot! Doot!  
Yeah-yeah-y e a h y e a h y e a h…

‘What?’

‘Are you humming?’

‘Hmm?’ 

‘Are you humming during sex?’ Patrick gave him a fake stern expression. ‘Wait, is _that_ why I’ve got that song going round in my head, now? Did you put it there?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Oops I did it again.’

‘What?’

‘You were singing it with Stevie at lunch, and I swear, you’ve been humming it ever since, and now it’s stuck in _my_ head.’

‘What’s wrong with Britney?’

‘Nothing, in moderation, but I don’t want her in my bed.’ Patrick paused. ‘Did you do this on purpose?’

‘Did I deliberately give you an earworm during sex, to mess with you? No, Patrick. That’s the sort of thing _you _would do.’

‘Yeah, but I wouldn’t have chosen Britney, so I have to feel like it’s some sort of payback for something.’

‘I am not humming.’ David settled back into his position – hips high, head cradled in his forearms on the pillow. ‘_You’re_ humming.’

‘You were humming.’

‘Well, I’m not now, and this ass isn’t going to eat itself, so.’

‘My God, you’re such a romantic.’

In spite of his complaint, Patrick quickly went back to what he’d been up to before the so-called humming incident, and good God, David really loved this with Patrick. It was easily in his top 3 sex things to do with Patrick. He’d always enjoyed the sensation before with other partners, the warm wetness of it, the way a tongue could move, God… but the intimacy of it had occasionally put him off, before. Not now. He actively liked how vulnerable having his ass kissed and licked made him feel, now. Also, on Patrick’s very first go at it, he’d discovered that he could come from just that, which had made him feel weirdly proud, and had made Patrick positively beam. He wondered if he could do it again tonight. He might even be able to be a little louder about it than usual, since Ray was going to be out until late. He relaxed into it, glad that they’d already put down a towel…

‘You’re doing it again!’

No, the tongue was gone. David rolled onto his back, frustrated. ‘What?’

‘Humming.’

‘I wasn’t! And why were you even listening for humming, back there?’

‘I could feel it. You were vibrating with it. With the hum.’

‘You can’t feel a hum.’

Patrick put his mouth on one of the sensitive creases where David’s hips joined his legs – the absolute most ticklish part of David – and hummed.

‘Aah!’

‘See?’ He did it again.

‘That really tickles!’

‘I know, that’s why I’m doing it.’ He did it yet again, until David was squirming and laughing.

‘I hate this!’

Patrick stopped. ‘Did you want me to…?’

‘…Know what it feels like yourself? Yes, I do.’ David hauled Patrick up the bed and hummed a few bars of the offending noughties power pop against Patrick’s ribs, in as ticklish a manner as he could.

Patrick automatically folded into himself at the sensation, like a deflating bounce house, and only managed to trap David’s head between thigh and elbow in doing so.

‘Oh dear God, that’s horrifying.’

‘See?’ mumbled David, his head still trapped.

‘It’s worse when you do it,’ Patrick told him. ‘Stubble. Unfair.’

‘Nothing to stop you growing stubble too,’ David told him, poking him in the ribs with every syllable for emphasis.

‘Yes there is, I just can’t pull it off,’ Patrick replied, poking David in the forehead with every syllable in return.

‘Spoken like a coward,’ David told him, hauling Patrick further up and himself scooching down so that they were at the correct angle for stubble-to-erection interface.

‘Spoken like somebody who knows his own face.’

‘Fashion coward,’ replied David, running the bristles on his cheek lightly along Patrick’s length.

‘For the last time, I’m not being your Fashion Boyfriend.’

‘Oh, I am very aware of that fact, your jeans remind me of that every single day. And your eight identical shirts, running the full gamut from Cambridge Blue to Oxford Blue.’

‘Oh, always sticking with the same colour clothes is fashion choice we’re criticizing now, is it?’

‘Well, first of all…’

‘OK, this cock isn’t sucking itself, David.’

‘Oh my God, so rude.’

‘You started it.’

David would have retorted again, but he’d already taken Patrick’s dick into his mouth, and it was difficult to argue while doing that – not that he hadn’t tried, before, and not that he wouldn’t try again.

It was less than a minute of the technique David had discovered Patrick liked the best (sloppy as possible, tongue on the head, half of a single middle finger in the ass, thumb on balls) before Patrick breathed out a tell-tale ‘fuck??’

David went on a little harder and deeper, since Patrick was close.

‘No,’ managed Patrick. He pulled at David’s arm. ‘Come up here. I like it when we do it together.’

Fair – Patrick _really_ loved to come sixty-nineing, and David enjoyed it a lot too. Patrick had told him it was the feeling of David tensing through the orgasm that he really loved. Yes, they also got that with anal, but David would often do a weird bitten-down little whimper when he came. Personally, David hated the whimper-moan – it sounded whiny to him, it was kind of involuntary, and it had been a source of ridicule in the past. Patrick? Loved. It. The sound of it, the sensation of it on his cock when David came while sucking him, all of it. 

David shifted so that he was lying alongside Patrick, his legs bent awkwardly against the head of the bed. Patrick grabbed his ass and put his lips around David’s dick. In the new, more awkward position and with Patrick now moving around, it took David a couple of goes to get Patrick in his open mouth, with it accidentally glancing across his nose the first time, which made them both giggle. The feeling of Patrick laughing around his cock was surprisingly nice. After that brief, embarrassing moment, they both got into the rhythm of the mutual blow jobs. Patrick kindly added two whole fingers inside David, since he was partially opened already from his tongue.

And that’s when, whether he intended to or not, Patrick started to hum.

Hmm, hmm hmm-mm mm-mm,  
Mm mm mm mm mm,   
Mm mm mm mm mm,  
Hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm…

It created the weirdest vibration. Good weird. Very good weird. And funny. Good funny. All funny with Patrick was good funny. David decided to join in, and experiment with a harmony. This made Patrick full-on laugh around David’s cock, which, hello, was this a kink? Was this a thing? He really liked it. Just generally, he liked making Patrick laugh probably as much as he liked making him come, it was the same hit, but making him laugh like this… oh, this was fun.

He raised his voice. Patrick raised his in return, and now they were both laughing hard, still in one another’s mouths. Something about Patrick convulsing with giggles around him was enough to send David over the edge and, dammit, there was the whimper, right in the middle of the giggles. Patrick clutched his hip hard with his spare hand and came, still quietly laughing. David suddenly realized that laughing at the same time that come is getting pumped into your mouth can have less than ideal consequences. He accidentally breathed a little bit of it in, and had to pull off Patrick suddenly, coughing and spluttering. Patrick hurriedly passed him a wad of toilet paper for him to spit into, and a second wad to clean up where he’d coughed up a few glutinous strings of it down his chin.

David, after way too many years of not quite feeling comfortable about one aspect of sex with fellow penis owners, had come to a mid-30s sexual revelation of his own, as a result of his relationship with Patrick: He was a spitter. Once they’d started going condom free, Patrick had tried swallowing a couple of times, said he hadn’t liked it and asked if David would mind if he spat instead, even though he knew that wasn’t as sexy. David had told him in no uncertain terms that as long as it wasn’t being used to create an offspring that at some point he might have to be responsible for, he didn’t care what happened to his semen after he’d come, and that Patrick should always do what made him most comfortable. And, something about that had given David permission to also stop swallowing. He much preferred to spit, and Patrick never mentioned it, never criticized it, never looked at David with anything other than satisfied adoration.

‘You OK?’ Patrick asked, after spitting out his own mouthful into tissue.

David nodded, bunching the gross tissues up to flush later. ‘Laughing and coming. Dangerous business.’

‘Worth it, though. That was fun.’

They lay together. They were both humming that damn song, still.

‘God, I love you,’ said Patrick, after a while.

‘I love you too.’

‘See how easy that one slipped out, David? I’m proud of you.’

‘OK.’

‘Just trips off the tongue.’ Patrick paused, humming again. ‘Didn’t that song have a weird long talky bit in the middle all about that Titanic necklace or something?’

‘”But I thought the old lady threw it into the ocean in the end”,’ David quoted.

‘Something about… “baby, I went back and found it for you”.’

‘”Aww, you shouldn’t have. Oops! I! Did it again to your heeeeart!’

Many people in Schitt’s Creek fell prey to the infection that day, singing it to themselves, to one another, some enjoying it, others growing annoyed, but only David Rose was so affected by it that he very nearly choked on some semen.

After a while, the earworm faded, and people got on with their lives, until several months later, when Roland’s truck radio played Blue by Eiffel 65.


	7. Oh, It's A Dolphin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After The Housewarming. Patrick has Some Thoughts. They aren't very happy ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the usual TW for David's anecdotes about past relationships being horrible - quite the feat, considering he spends this whole chapter asleep.

SEVEN – Oh, It’s A Dolphin

The last things they’d said about that kiss had been in bed, when Patrick had asked if he could expect David to go around kissing more guys, and David had replied that he only would if Patrick continued to throw dumb parties with games where the whole point was to get people to kiss one another. Then he’d tried going down on Patrick but Patrick had stopped it, saying that he was too tired and they were both probably a little too drunk. David had replied begrudgingly that that was fine, even though he’d given head while _much_ drunker than this, and that they could revisit the Christening of the apartment in the morning. Then David had asked if Patrick wanted him to call Ray on speakerphone first thing for old times sake, smirked at his own cleverness and gone to sleep.

Patrick couldn’t sleep.

He’d read somewhere that it’s often hard to sleep, the first night in a new place – that a part of you is too on guard for danger; a throwback from when humanity’s ancestors slept in trees or caves or something. Well, what did humanity’s ancestors do about still being weirdly upset that a hot drunk guy chastely kissed their boyfriends, and not being able to tell their boyfriends how much they hated it without sounding like some sort of monumental jealous asshole? Because he was pretty sure that was what was keeping him awake at this point, not wariness of saber toothed tigers.

He got it, really he did. He’d come up with the High School Slumber Party idea, even though David had complained. He’d set up spin the bottle, because he’d thought it would be fun. Obviously, the bottle would land on David at some point. Would he have felt any better if the bottle had directed David and Stevie to kiss, for example? With all of their history? Or a different handsome guy? A single one? Another one who thought he was straight, like Patrick had done, before meeting David?

Ted thought he was straight, didn’t he?

(Ted _is_ straight, though, and is with Alexis, he’s practically David’s brother-in-law, why are you freaking out about this, it’s stupid)

Had this happened before? Had Alexis’ boyfriends made out with David before? Had they fucked him? According to David, the opposite situation had happened a few times, but also according to David, he’d been plenty of peoples’ Queer Little Secret (you still haven’t told Mom and Dad about him, fucking hypocrite), so who was to say? 

David could say. David could tell him, but he was asleep, and he wasn’t about to wake the man up to ask him ‘hey, hey David, love of my life, so have you ever helped a guy cheat on your sister?’

Besides, he didn’t even want to know (but you do want to know).

He couldn’t help thinking about it. 

He couldn’t help being angry about it.

He couldn’t help finding it weirdly hot, and that was gross and creepy and he hated himself for it. With this a thing, now? Cuckoldry voyeurism stuff? Jesus, Patrick, he was only a year in to the best relationship of his life, and he was thinking about watching his hot boyfriend make out with another hot guy? (they weren’t making out, it was little more than a peck, Patrick)

He was not going to do this. He was not going to ‘Christen’ his new apartment, which he mostly got in the first place so that he could have much more privacy with David, by angrily jerking off in the bathroom over the mental image of his boyfriend having a weird, semi-incestuous affair with a pun loving vet. He was going to try to get some sleep and then take up David’s generous offer of some morning oral, like a normal person. What was wrong with him? This had never happened before (this did happen before, that one time).

OK, so that one time, when he and Rachel had broken up for the second time, and he saw her with that guy, what was his name? Rahul? And he’d been tall and fit and pretty, with eyelashes so thick they looked like he was wearing mascara, and he’d seen them kissing and he’d hated it so much, even though he’d been the one to break up with her. He realized what that had been, now. He knew why he’d masturbated over it for about a week. He’d been hot for Rahul. So – God, was he hot for Ted, now?

He looked over at David. His boyfriend was asleep facing him, brows slightly furrowed, lashes leaving dark curves on his face in the gloom, mouth hidden underneath the sheets since his head had slipped halfway down off the pillow. Tensions in David’s cheekbones suggested that he was grinding his teeth in his sleep again; he was going to need to get a mouth guard sooner or later.

Would he worry about Ted grinding his molars in his sleep? Probably not. Ted was just a hot, straight guy. He liked him. He didn’t love him, not like David. No guy, not Rahul, not Ted, not Harold Perrineau’s Mercutio or Captain Jack Sparrow or Viago the vampire or either of the TV Sherlock Holmeses (and yes, at least _now_ you understand what _those_ fascinations were all about), had made the world suddenly make sense, like finally seeing the image in a magic eye picture. Not like with David. A two minute conversation about a form, and suddenly – boom. His focus had softened and shifted, and what he’d been seeing as a nonsensical mess all his life was suddenly a 3D dolphin. None of those guys made him see the 3D dolphin. He didn’t want to lose the 3D dolphin!

But why hadn’t he asked David to move in, again? He’d been considering it, but had lost the nerve. Why hadn’t he told his Mom & Dad? Again, he kept wanting to, but here he was, still letting them think David was just a business partner. Was this fixating on the image of David and Ted some sort of manifestation of his own guilt? 

He didn’t know. He didn’t know. He just couldn’t sleep.

He reached out to David with his thumb and gently tried to smooth the tense crease between his eyebrows. David snorted at the sensation and rolled over to face the other side. Patrick felt faintly bereft, not to mention aggrieved (which is ridiculous; of course he rolled over, he’s asleep and you’re poking his face).

He looked at the back of David’s head, and couldn’t sleep.

(you love him)

He looked up at the ceiling, and couldn’t sleep.

(you’re terrified of losing him)

He looked at the other wall, and couldn’t sleep.

(you’re frightened that if he moves in, it’ll all go wrong, somehow)

He lay on his front, face squashed into the pillow, and couldn’t sleep.

(you’re frightened that if you don’t handle telling your family properly, it could turn into another Rachel situation and hurt him again and risk losing him again)

He looked at the ceiling once more.

(you never want to hurt him again, you know how much he’s been hurt already)

He went to the bathroom, contemplating masturbation after all, if only to help him relax a little.

(you bet he’s probably had people get off over watching him with another guy before, you don’t want to be like one of those assholes)

He just had a piss, instead, and went back to bed.

(remember the night he kissed you and you couldn’t sleep at all)

(you were so excited)

(you could finally see the 3D dolphin)

(you’ve still got him, he’s right there)

He wrapped an arm around David, and shuffled in to his back, feeling David’s slow breaths, setting up a ponderous rhythm against Patrick’s chest.

(you still see the dolphin)

He felt himself begin to relax a little. He found himself breathing in time with his big, beautiful Little Spoon.

(you always want to see the dolphin)

He began to drift off, even as light started to seep into the sky outside.

(here’s a fucking magic eye dolphin for you, wise-ass; you want to marry this guy)

And he was asleep.


	8. Breathe (one)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything's going great and he can't breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just all panic attack, so TW for those. Brief suggestion of past drug abuse & possible eating disorder.
> 
> BTW his coping strategy towards the end is my own panic attack coping strategy, I find that it helps, if you get them too, it's worth a try to concentrate on something boring and tactile.

Everything was going great.

It was all going so great.

The store? Performing slightly better than his business plan had expected for that quarter. The espresso machine was practically theirs.

Patrick? So awesome. Practically co-habiting even though technically not and he always remembered to give him space so that it wouldn’t all be too much too soon like it had been with Alexis and Mutt. Healthy. So healthy.

His family? Awesome. His dad had really found a new sense of purpose with the motel, ditto his mom with the council and the singing group and she was still flying high over that ridiculous sounding movie. His sister was in a healthy relationship with a nice guy of her own, who actually treated her nice and was always there for her and he didn’t have to worry about him hurting her, and she actually seemed really, really in to him; she’d fucking _fought_ for him, so he also didn’t have to worry about her ditching his cute ass and running off with some violent tycoon or a sexy hobo.

His best friend? Content with the motel and all over some hotel reviewer guy who seemed nice enough, so he didn’t have to worry about that either.

There was nothing to worry about. Nothing to worry about.

He couldn’t breathe.

Everybody was happy, so happy, he was happy.

He couldn’t breathe.

He knew what these were, now. He’d been getting them ever since moving here. He knew it would pass. It would pass, super soon.

He couldn’t breathe, though.

Life was so good, he’d assumed they’d stop, with life being so good.

He couldn’t breathe.

He didn’t even want to go back, any more. If they ever got their money back he’d probably bury his share of it in a hole in the ground and pretend it never happened. He would fantasise about it sometimes, fucking burying cash in a shallow grave in the wilderness, and with it all those fake friendships and horrible relationships and the drugs and the drink and the making himself sick and the shame and the shame and the shame and he

Couldn’t

Breathe

He sank to a crouch, back pressed hard against the wall, glad nobody could see him. He remembered the advice he’d found online. Concentrate on something boring. Something tactile. The roughness of the brick. The coldness of the floor. Counting the loose threads on the tear in his jeans. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

He would be able to breathe, soon.

He couldn’t breathe.

Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen…

He couldn’t breathe.


	9. Cock A Hoop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Straight after Meet The Parents. A conversation needs to be had before the birthday sex can commence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, David has body image issues and horrible anecdotes & Patrick is still tentatively working on his own coming out/healthy relationship process.

NINE - Cock A Hoop

It was late. Patrick had had a physically and emotionally exhausting day. He felt bloated from beer and cake. It was, technically, no longer his birthday.

He was still going to have the Birthday Sex, dammit.

He landed heavily on the bed, to the loud complaint of his bed springs. ‘Birthday Sex!’

‘Well.’ David approached the bed at a far more leisurely pace. ‘If Sir insists. And what would Sir like to request for his final birthday treat?’

Patrick’s face lit up at the awful accent. ‘Heyyy! The British Guy’s back!’

‘Yes, the British Guy will be your waiter at the late night Sex Restaurant…’

‘Does the British Guy have a name?’

‘Aubergine… Teatime,’ replied David, trying to keep a straight face. ‘SIR Aubergine Teatime, heir to the Duchy of East Wessexshire.’

‘A fine fellow like you, working as a waiter in a Sex Restaurant?’

‘We have fallen upon hard times, what what. Now, if I might take your order…?’ David paused expectantly, imaginary pen and notepad raised.

‘Um.’ Patrick stretched out on the bed. ‘For a starter, toy fun for two?’

David pretended to write this down. ‘Very good, Sir, I shall have them warmed. And for the main course?’

‘Sixty nine.’ Patrick clapped his hands above his head as he chanted. ‘Sixty nine. Sixty nine.’

‘Ah yes, the house special. Would you like to order dessert now, or see how you feel later?’

‘I would like to order a platter of cuddles and spooning, if that’s all right.’

David pretended to finish writing on his imaginary pad, with a flourish. ‘I’ll see what the chef can whip up.’

‘But first,’ announced Patrick, ‘as an amuse-bouche, I should like your very good ass in this bed with me.’

David pretended to put the imaginary pad in his pocket. ‘Knickers off, sir?’

‘Knickers off, Mr Teatime,’ replied Patrick with a faux-sternness.

David got undressed, slightly too slowly and meticulously for Patrick’s taste. Sex with David may have been the best sex he’d ever had, but it was also the only sex he’d ever had where he first had to wait while his partner carefully folded his clothes. As he waited, Patrick undressed quickly and clumsily, getting a foot stuck in the bottom of his jeans for several seconds. He pushed his own clothes to the floor before remembering with a silent curse that this just meant David would spend more time picking them up and gently draping them over a chair.

After approximately a decade, David slid into bed with him, skin against skin.

‘Hi,’ he said, dropping the bad accent and mannerisms of Sir Aubergine Teatime.

‘Hey,’ replied Patrick.

They kissed.

‘Thank you, again,’ said Patrick. ‘For everything you did today.’

‘It was no big deal.’

‘No. It was a number of _really_ big deals. I hope you know how lucky I feel, having you to hold my hand throughout this whole… coming out process.’

They had stopped kissing. This was veering more into earnest discussion territory than silly sexy territory.

‘It was the least I could do, for you,’ David replied.

‘Again, no it wasn’t.’

‘OK, maybe it wasn’t. But… I don’t know. I wanted the experience to be good for you. Mom and Alexis were always super supportive of my sexuality, it took Dad a little while to understand it and accept that it wasn’t a phase, but still he was always very Dad about it, very sanguine, you know, I never felt like it made him think less of me. But I didn’t have help. Coming out. Didn’t have a long-term partner to stand with me. In fact, the people I first took to my parents’ house were one another’s long-term partners, so they were very much there for each other, not me. Especially when they left in the night with a bag full of jewellery.’ David’s sudden face journey betrayed a conscious mental course alteration into more lighthearted ground. ‘Besides,’ he added with a deliberate cheerfulness, ‘for purely selfish reasons, I wanted your parents to like me.’

‘Well, mission accomplished on that one, for sure.’ 

David kissed him again, but Patrick still couldn’t get his head back into the sex space. There was still something he really needed to say.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Hmm?’

‘For not telling them about us sooner. I’m really sorry. I know you’ve been kept a secret from people’s families before…’

‘Mm, not to mention their spouses.’

‘Spouses? Gross.’

‘Rachel,’ David reminded him.

Ouch. He wasn’t going to live the Rachel incident down for a very long time, was he?

‘I hope you didn’t feel… I didn’t want to make you feel the way those other people made you feel.’ Patrick paused. ‘…did you?’

David shook his head, without making eye contact.

‘_Did_ you??’

David met his gaze, apologetically, and held up a forefinger an inch from his thumb. _Smidge_, he mouthed.

‘Damn.’

‘But only for a short time,’ David assuaged, ‘and it all ended well, so. No harm done.’

‘You know that it was just I didn’t know how Mom and Dad would react about _me_. I was never, ever ashamed about _you_. You know how proud I am to be seen with _you_?’

‘Stop.’

‘Uh, small town boring business major on the arm of a former millionaire actor, model and gallerist? Son of _the_ Moira Rose, and yes by God he has her cheekbones and then some? People must think I won you in a Boyfriend Raffle.’

‘OK, that’s very sweet, but a lot of those compliments were actually about my mother, which really isn’t what a man is looking for from somebody he’s currently naked in bed with.’

‘Oh, so you’d accept a “you’re good looking, David” comment _without_ a caveat, now?’

David thought about this. ‘No, I would not.’

‘OK.’

‘It just doesn’t sit well with me?’

‘I know.’

‘But thank you anyway for your comments. I’m sure that the raffle you won me at was a very classy one. For a big charity fundraiser, or something.’

Patrick looked at David, and wanted to marry him.

This didn’t take him by surprise, at all. He’d been looking at David and wanting to marry him for months, now. Mornings at the apartment were generally the worst; making himself a tea and getting back into bed to read while David slept next to him, frozen in a timeless moment before the day began in earnest, feeling his warmth, hearing his breaths and thinking about forever, about two old men reading and dozing in the early morning light. Then there were also the lunchtimes at the store, those were pretty dangerous too, eating his home-made sandwiches and making each other laugh and wondering at how, in spite of them working together, dating, practically living together now, he still relished those snatched quiet ten minutes to eat bread and cheese with him. And the evenings, in front of the TV in Patrick’s apartment or playing that game of Chinese checkers with the three missing marbles Stevie had found at the motel. And during the sex, still surprisingly quiet even outside of Ray’s earshot, Patrick whispering expletives into David’s ear like secrets, David always even quieter still, bitten down, still holding something back even after all this time. Patrick wanted enough time to find out what it was David was holding back. Even if took him 50 years.

His main reason for not asking David to marry him so far had been that he knew he would first have to let his family know about David, and about everything that his being with David meant. But that had happened, now. It was done, just like that. The one thing that had frightened him too much to allow him to move on had been and gone already and it was OK.

Well. It was almost all done.

‘Gimme a sec.’ He rolled over and grabbed his phone. ‘I think there’s something I need to do about this raffle prize.’

‘No nudes,’ replied David, a tinge of panic to his voice. ‘It’s not that I don’t trust you with them, I do, I just don’t trust the cloud.’

‘I’m not taking any photos of you without your say so,’ Patrick told him, not for the first time. He pulled up a message from Stevie. ‘Stevie sent me these from tonight, which can I post?’

David scrolled through the handful of photos of himself and Patrick at the party. He pointed at one of the pair of them in a loose, casual embrace. Patrick was grinning at the camera, David’s face was half hidden against Patrick’s head, but what you could see of it looked happy. ‘This one has good lighting, you want me to post it?’

‘No, it’s for me.’

‘You don’t have Instagram. You have the social media presence of a 60 year old.’

‘It’s for my Facebook.’

‘Facebook, Jesus, Grampa.’

Patrick took the phone and changed his profile picture to the photo of himself with David.

‘There. Now everybody knows what I won.’

‘Yes, all 53 of your Facebook friends will be cock a hoop.’

Patrick changed his relationship status from its long-dormant “it’s complicated”, and added a short post explaining why.

‘Most of those are my family, and old friends from back home. And to be honest, I don’t how many of them _will_ be cock a hoop, but you’re a part of who I am, now, and I want to be open about it. Also, word’s going to spread now that Mom and Dad know, and I’d rather they hear it from me than from them.’

‘Oh! Well, that’s good, then. Thank you.’

‘Thank _you_.’

‘No, thank _you_.’

They kissed again, and Patrick wanted to marry David again.

Dammit, this was going to be an expensive year, he could tell.

‘I do believe,’ said David, slipping back into his awful English accent, ‘that it might be time for Sir’s starter course.’ 

David reached into the Sex Drawer, for their two favourite toys – the little vibratey one for Patrick, and the purple one that Patrick always referred to as The Ambassador, mostly because doing so made David laugh. As he pulled out the toys, the action was met with a loud ‘ping’.

‘Hmm. They’ve never done that before.’

‘It’s my phone.’ Patrick glanced at it. ‘Aww. It’s one of my cousins. She _is_ cock a hoop.’

‘That’s nice. I’m glad for you.’

‘I’m _very_ glad for me.’ He kissed David again, running his hands down his chest. ‘Now, let me get you ready for an important visit from The Ambassador.’

There was another ‘ping’.

‘Oh my God, turn that thing on silent!’


	10. Schrodinger's Paul Rudd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick has given Stevie some big news, and Stevie has Thoughts. About the past, the present, the future, and the 1995 movie Clueless. Meanwhile, David is on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No TWs for anything here, for a change, there is just some generic yearning. Stevie really needs her own Paul Rudd.

TEN – Schrodinger’s Paul Rudd

This was great.

This was fantastic.

She was so happy for them, God, _so_ happy.

She’d set them up in the first place, after all. At David’s birthday, when he was being a fucking idiot and immediately going in to self sabotage mode by inviting her along to be the third wheel at an obvious date. _She_ had made that date, and the resulting kiss, and the resulting relationship happen. _And_ she’d made David say ‘Boyfriend’. She was their matchmaker, their Emma, their Cher Horowitz. Maybe she was just feeling a little bit off because what she’d thought was going to be her Paul Rudd had so recently turned out not to be her Paul Rudd after all. 

Not, of course, that Paul Rudd had been some cute asshole who traveled around reviewing motels. Rather, he was the guy who’d been around Cher for years and kind of grated on her until she’d had her fountain moment.

No. No. Her life was not Clueless. She wasn’t a Cher Horowitz. Alexis was a Cher Horowitz, and Ted was the Paul Rudd. Stevie was Brittany Murphy, surely, and she’d get her stoner skater guy eventually.

Or a Paul Rudd of her own. Paul Rudd had been hot in that movie. She deserved a Paul Rudd. And that didn’t necessarily mean a guy who’d been around her for years so that their relationship had settled into something familial and sexless even though there _was_ that spark there, once, sometimes, maybe kind of still? And continued to be annoying, _so_ annoying, but also very sweet…

But _always_ there. Which was the really annoying bit. That was probably why her thoughts would sometimes kind of drift back to him at the end of every _proper_ relationship, ie not just a week of casual fucking in a sticky honeymoon suite whenever nobody was looking. He was just. Always. There.

Looking ridiculous. And dumb. And stupid.

Smelling like a cashmere sweater in a forest fire.

Smiling at her like they had a million hilarious secrets that they would never tell anyone else.

They _did_ have a million hilarious secrets that they would never tell anyone else.

They were best friends.

Best friends who had fucked.

Best friends who had fallen apart when she’d told him that she really, really, really would have liked the fucking to have continued.

She’d told him she liked him, when they were both single, and he had run away. To join. The Amish. That’s a pretty clear “no thank you, Stevie”. And now the best guy, seriously, the _best_ guy, was going to ask him to marry him, and he was definitely going to cry, and say yes, and ask her to be some sort of Maid of Honour/Best Woman combination and obviously she would say yes, of course David.

And she would plan a very messy, very fun bachelor party for him, and they would get drunk and/or high and she would tell him that she loved him, because it would be true, and maybe he’d be drunk and/or high enough to tell her that he loved her too, because she knew that to be true as well, and then the wedding day would come and she would give away the man she loved.

As a best friend.

She’d probably have her own Paul Rudd by then.

He was not her Paul Rudd. He was _not_ her Paul Rudd. There had never been a fountain moment. Or, if there had, it had been a long time ago, and too much water since then had flowed under the… fountain. The point was; he wasn’t her Paul Rudd. 

This was all Emir’s fault. She hadn’t even thought about this in years. 

Well. Months.

Dionne! That’s who David was in this situation: the Dionne, happily settled with Turk from Scrubs. Or was he one of the hopeless teachers that gets set up near the start? The point was…

She was pulled from her spiral of thought when she very literally tripped over an entire David.

‘Jesus, Stevie!’

‘You’re not Paul Rudd!’ She scrambled quickly up from where she’d landed.

David remained where he was; sitting balled up in the middle of the motel reception’s floor for absolutely no reason, like a knitted modern art installation. He blinked at her a few times, bewildered, as if _she_ were the one being weird.

‘No, I am not,’ David managed after a moment, ‘I just wish I could work out what his skincare regime is, his complexion is amazing for a man of his advancing years.’

He sounded out of breath; that was odd. How do you get out of breath sitting on the floor?

‘Have you been running or something?’

‘Ew, no.’

‘Well, I hope you haven’t been having sex in here.’

‘You literally just came from secret rehearsals with Patrick.’ David gave her a small smile. One of those secret smiles. Dammit, Emir! ‘Besides, as we both know, that front desk offers exactly zero privacy.’

‘Well, what were you doing here?’

‘Sitting!’

‘In the middle of the floor?’

‘Why not? I wasn’t expecting Hurricane Stevie to rip on through and bluster straight into me.’ He hauled himself up onto his feet. ‘Although on further consideration, a floor of this sort of cleanliness level might not be the best surface to interface directly with high quality pants.’ He brushed himself off. He looked shifty. Shiftier than usual. ‘So, what’s up with you? Anything new? Did Patrick say anything cute about me?’

Now it was her turn to feel shifty. ‘Nope. No. Nothing cute.’

‘Uh huh.’

‘In fact, he said distinctly uncute things. He honked like a goose at me, and said you were a “juicy little porkchop”?’

‘Mm, sounds like that man of mine, all right.’

‘And that your butt smelled like a midsummer’s landfill.’

‘Well now I know you’re lying because, again, as you will recall, I am a very meticulous cleaner of that whole region, so.’

He still looked weird. Off.

‘Seriously,’ he continued, ‘_what_ did he say about me?’

‘Good God, man, you’ve been with him for years, you’re not a kid with a crush, show a little decorum.’

‘_Was_ it something cute, though?’

‘It was just the usual stuff! About the store, about… plans, you know. Financial plans.’ It wasn’t exactly a lie.

David rolled his eyes, fondly. ‘Spreadsheets.’

Dammit, Emir.

‘Oh, PS,’ added David, suddenly, ‘I’m currently missing a ring.’ He held up a hand by way of illustration. There were indeed only three rings on it.

‘Are you accusing me of stealing one of your great big man-rings?’

‘Well, you could always wear one as a bangle on your little fairy-arm, but I suspect it’s more that it fell off my side table and rolled somewhere, so if you could keep an eye out for it, that would be appreciated.’

Stevie nodded seriously, remembering the spark of mischief in Patrick’s eyes as he’d proudly shown her the carefully purloined ring, as a style and size guide for the goldsmith. He’d thought ahead to ensure he stole it from the motel, rather than pocketing one while David showered at his place, so that David wouldn’t suspect. She had been drafted in to “find” it in three days’ time. It had been, in fairness, unbelievably cute.

‘OK,’ she said, ‘I’ll let you know if I just happen to see your jewellery while I’m crawling around your bedroom floor, as I am known to regularly do.’

‘Or, y’know, it may have accidentally got kicked out of the door by one of my sister’s big Emu Feet, so just keep an look out in general. If you please.’

‘OK, fine.’

He was not her Paul Rudd. He was just another lonely heart that Stevie had set up with the love of his life, because she was a kindly soul, and you do not set your Paul Rudd up with a love of his life that _is absolutely not you_, unless you’re some sort of self sabotaging idiot.

He was not her Paul Rudd.

He might be her Paul Rudd.

Dammit! This was the Emir breakup talking. He was _not_ her Paul Rudd.

‘Hey, what was that weird shit about Paul Rudd earlier?’

‘Oh… someone said you looked like him?’

‘Ew.’ David ran his hands over his face. ‘I mean, he clearly moisturises intensely, but the man is like 50.’


	11. Flap Flap, Baby Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David is finally able to leave the motel and move in with the man he loves. David being David, he doesn't take this turn of good fortune very well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Veering into the realm of emotional/mental illness h/c here, so I wanted to load two chapters at the same time so that we're at least able to see a corner being turned. TW for panic attacks, unhealthy thoughts coming out during sex, uncomfortable cajoling during sex and discussion that implies previous sexual abuse.

ELEVEN – Flap Flap, Baby Bird

It was David’s father who started the drumroll with the palms of his hands on the reception desk. His Mom and fiancé quickly joined in. Stevie just watched him: her usual, fondly sardonic smile on her face.

He handed her the key to Room 7.

‘Young Miss,’ he told her, ‘I should like to check out, now.’

The crowd around him cheered. After a brief delay, his sister joined in with the cheering, through the laptop’s tinny speakers.

‘Well,’ replied Stevie, taking the key, ‘I trust that you enjoyed your stay with us?’

‘Oh, I’m feeling very rested, very ready to face the remainder of my journey now, thank you, and shall be leaving you a very generous four star review.’

His father smiled and clapped him on the back. ‘Don’t even joke about giving us any less than five stars, son.’

‘My mistake,’ beamed David, ‘five stars it is.’

‘Although I would take a look at the plumbing situation in the bathroom,’ added David.

‘I fixed that plumbing,’ his dad reminded him.

‘Yeah, I’d take a look at it, though,’ David told Stevie, ‘before any proper guests stay there.’

His mom clasped her hands to her chest. ‘It’s going to feel so strange not having our little chicks in the nest next door any more.’

‘Mom, I’m coming back in like five months,’ said Alexis’ voice on the laptop, although her poor internet connection meant that her face was still frozen halfway through saying hi, three minutes ago, ‘and David’s only moving down the road, it’s not like we’re moving out-out.’

‘Yeah, and we already both did the moving out-out thing in our teens,’ continued David, ‘we only all had to move back in together when we came here, so it really isn’t a big deal.’

‘Flap flap, baby bird,’ sighed his Mom. ‘You must spread your fluffy little wings and pray that you are capable of soaring now that you have shed the confines of your shell.’

‘Mom, I’m 36.’

‘You are?’ Patrick asked, delighted. ‘I had 35, I was only one year out!’

David shrugged. ‘I mean, you were going to have to see some form of ID sooner or later.’

Patrick’s face lit up even further. ‘So, wait, your 40th birthday’s going to be in less than four years?’

‘Oh God.’

‘Oh Patrick,’ said Stevie, ‘you need to start planning that _right away_’.

‘Please don’t.’

‘Oh my God, David,’ came Alexis’ voice, ‘yay!’

And that was that. His things were moved, from a small twin motel bedroom to a studio apartment that really wasn’t all that much bigger. Patrick had bought him a decent solid oak dresser second hand, which at least partially solved the storage situation. They had decided that they needed to stay in Patrick’s apartment during the engagement so as save as much as they could for the wedding, but that once that was done and paid for, they could start thinking about a deposit for a house.

A house.

A little house in the country. With his husband.

With a garden. And a picket fence. And a slow cooker. And a husband.

He couldn’t breathe.

He saw a little house with a stylish paint job and excellently curated vintage furniture and god, a dog maybe, full of 40th Birthday balloons, and 50th Birthday balloons, and 60th Birthday balloons, and he couldn’t breathe.

He pretended to need to go and see Stevie about something real quick and instead he went around the back with the dumpster to count pieces of gravel until he could breathe.

When he came back, he wasn’t thinking about the little house any more. He was very much in the present, with his fiancé and his fiance’s home cooking and a bottle of wine. Yes, this was good. And then, in the apartment that was now half his, his fiancé asked him to come to the bed that was now also half his, and yes, that was also very good, thank you.

They still had sex so quietly; it was just what David was used to, now. Silent kisses, unspoken enthusiastic consent, questions asked and answered with light fingers and soft lips rather than words. Patrick started slowly moving his mouth down David’s body while shifting his knees towards David’s shoulders, and David could tell where this was heading. 

Another sixty nine.

Patrick really had found his favourite; they’d been ending on a sixty nine pretty much every time for the last few months, now. And that was great, David loved doing it, too, Patrick was amazing at giving head these days.

Just…

He kind of missed getting pounded in the ass, which was weird.

Like really pounded. The way he used to fantasise about before he and Patrick were even a thing. God, the fantasies he’d had when they’d been awkwardly flirting in the unopened store. Against the wall, over the counter, in the fucking street with onlookers gawping in alarm. 

‘Hey,’ he whispered, gently knocking on Patrick’s side for attention. ‘Hey, I have an idea, why don’t we celebrate the new direction our life together is taking by having fun with something new?’

Patrick stopped, crawling back up to face level with David. ‘You got us a new toy?’

David shook his head. ‘But I thought maybe… we never really discuss fantasies, and whether it might be fun to try some out. Maybe, fantasies we had about one another, before we got together?’

‘Oh! Um. Well, you’re my only guy, so I didn’t know enough about what to expect, really. I knew I wanted to kiss you.’ Patrick paused, far too shyly for somebody who mere seconds ago was gearing up to suck his dick. ‘Knew I wanted to see what you kept underneath all those big sweaters. And the time you wore that kilt thing, I definitely knew I wanted to run my hands right up there. Um. But besides that, I was still working things out. Watching a lot of gay porn with pretty, dark haired men in, and thinking about the things they were doing in that. But, um. I know life isn’t porn. I don’t actually want to do those porny things with you.’

‘But I’m totally up for a whole load of the lighter porny things, though, like if you wanted to take me over your knee for six of the best or something…’

‘I don’t know, I think I’d feel weird. What with you being a whole 36 years old.’

‘What was that, dear? I’m going deaf in my extreme old age.’

Patrick just laughed: quietly, fondly.

‘OK,’ David continued, ‘well, with me, I used to fantasise that you’d just… snap. Grab me roughly and, sort of, throw me against a wall. Or our sales counter.’

‘But your lip balms!’

‘It was before we opened. And then you’d just… take me. Rough and ready. Like Brokeback but without the tent or the tragedy.’

Patrick looked troubled. ‘No offence, David, but I’m not sure I could hold you up against a wall.’

‘Well, what about you bending me over something? Your desk, maybe?’

Patrick still didn’t look quite sure. ‘OK.’

They got up, and Patrick shifted the papers on his desk to one side.

‘OK, so, um.’ He carefully took hold of David’s wrists, behind his back, and put his other hand on David’s shoulder. ‘So, I’ve had enough of you breezing around this store looking all irresistible, I’m going to have to fuck you.’

‘Oh no,’ David sighed, happily, ‘my precious sales counter and also ass.’

‘Bend over, please.’

‘More aggressive,’ David whispered.

‘Bend the fuck over the counter,’ Patrick told him, still unsure, pushing David’s shoulder.

David tried, but the desk was too shallow and he ended up with his head squashed against the wall. It did at least feel good with Patrick starting to finger him, but after a moment that too stopped.

‘Um,’ said Patrick, apologetically, ‘I don’t think… just from the angles at play here, I don’t think I’m going to be able to get in, in this position. What about, if we go back to the bed, but we have you on your front and just pretend you’re over the counter?’

‘OK, fine.’ They moved back to the bed.

Patrick arranged David on his front, and added another finger, with some more lube.

‘In the fantasy we don’t have lube,’ David told the pillow. ‘We just make do.’

‘Well, in reality we do have lube, so we don’t need to make do.’

‘Don’t open me too much,’ David said. ‘In the fantasy…’

‘Brokebacky, I get it.’ Patrick pulled his fingers out, positioned the head of his cock against David’s fundament, and then pulled away again.

‘No, don’t tease.’

‘I’m not teasing, you’re not ready yet.’

‘Yes I am, I’ve had lube and two fingers, that’s plenty.’

‘I could feel that you weren’t open enough, it wasn’t going to work.’

‘Give it a _try_!’

‘Give me a _minute_!’

‘Patrick, it’s fine.’

‘If I try to go in now, I’ll hurt you.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘Yes, you do, and so do I.’

‘Just fuck me!’

‘I’d hurt you…’

‘_FUCKING HURT ME!_’

‘No!’

There was a sudden, total absence of Patrick. David rolled over to find his fiancé sitting back at the foot of the bed, looking horrified and weirdly angry.

‘I want you to,’ David attempted. ‘It’s OK.’

‘No, it isn’t.’

‘But I…’

‘Falafel, David.’

David opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again.

‘I’m not in to any of that,’ Patrick told him. ‘It’s OK to play pretend, but I’m not going to actually physically hurt you, that’s not sexy, that’s just upsetting. Where is all this coming from all of a sudden, David?’

‘I just wanted to do something different.’

‘We moved in together today, that’s pretty different.’ Patrick paused. ‘And that’s what this is about, isn’t it? You’re freaking out. Are we going too fast?’

‘I just don’t want to do nothing but sixty nine for the rest of our lives.’

‘OK, that at least is fair, I’ve been hogging that one a lot. I should ask you what you want more before defaulting to my favourite. But please, don’t ask me to do something like that again, I don’t like it.’

‘It’s just a bit of rough stuff.’

‘No, it isn’t, not with you, because I know you, and I don’t want to be like… I know people hurt you, in the past, rough stuff, not stopping when you said to stop, coercing you, doing stuff while you were out of your head on drink and drugs and for Christ’s sake, David, we both know the word for that, but I won’t say it until you say it. And I don’t know how long it’s going to take you to come to terms with that, or to work through it or whatever, but I am not going to ever, _ever_ want to do something that makes me feel like I’m… violating you. No matter how low or self-combustible you feel.’

David nodded, looking at the ceiling. ‘OK, well. I think I’ve well and truly killed the mood here, so maybe I’d better go.’

He got up.

‘David, no, you can’t.’

‘Give me one good reason why not.’

‘I’ll give you three. One, we’re adults and we should talk this through; two, I love you; and three, this is where you live now, so where would you even go? They booked your old room out already.’

David though about these three excellent points, and sat back down again.

Patrick shifted over to sit next to him. ‘You know, both Stevie and Alexis warned me you might try a new self sabotage stunt over the engagement and moving in.’

‘I do self sabotage a lot,’ David admitted. ‘Pretty much every time I get to have something nice, in fact.’

‘I can’t wait to see how you try to fuck up your own wedding day,’ Patrick told him, with a soft smile. 

David took his hand. ‘Mm-hmm. It’s probably going to be spectacular.’

‘That’s my David.’ Patrick rested his chin on David’s shoulder. ‘So, you want to talk about it?’

And so, they did. They talked about the times David had made life harder for himself, and pushed people away – the times he’d done that with Patrick, even, and yes, he could see that there was a pattern. They talked about counseling, which David quickly dismissed, and then Patrick spent some time telling David that he deserved happiness.

They kissed, and didn’t have sex, because the mood had indeed been killed, and they settled down after a long and busy moving day.

And David looked at the ceiling, and thought about a little house, and couldn’t sleep.


	12. Breathe (two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cups in Patrick's kitchen are in the wrong place. This is a massive problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we veer fully into the mental illness confessional h/c part, so sex takes a back seat for a bit. Some of these symptoms are my own, some aren't. TW for panic attacks & other anxiety disorder related symptoms - intrusive thoughts, compulsions, wild mood swings, etc

TWELVE – Breathe (two)

Patrick turned the key in the lock and opened his apartment door, already pleased with what he’d decided to say.

‘Some asshole’s ruined the General Store, all you can buy there now is moisturiser and expensive cheese. I had to drive to the supermarket out of town to get the groceries.’

His fiancé was organising his clothes. Just as he had been when Patrick had gone out on his grocery run, a full hour ago.

‘Still not done with that?’

David shook his head. ‘It’s still not right.’

Still, Patrick noticed that David had put the dishes away like Patrick had asked, so Patrick decided not to push the matter.

That was, until he opened the dried and canned foods cupboard to put the pasta and sauce away, and found it full of cups.

‘Oh, you reorganised the kitchen for me.’

‘It was sub optimal.’

‘Not for me, David, because I do all the cooking, and I like having the food to hand in this cupboard.’

‘Pasta’s in the cupboard in the end, now.’

‘I don’t want it at the end, I want it in this cupboard.’

‘But that’s where the cups need to go.’

‘No it isn’t.’ Patrick started taking the cups out of his pasta cupboard.

‘What are you doing?’ David got up and walked over to the kitchen area, and, Jeez. Patrick would never, _ever_ tell him this, but David looked awful. He was pale, and twitchy. His eyes weren’t right. He looked sick. Fluey. And yet, David hadn’t complained of feeling sick, hadn’t so much as sniffled. 

What he did know was that David wasn’t sleeping well, and hadn’t been since moving in three days ago. He’d been aware of David tossing and turning in the night. Neither of them had even mentioned the idea of having sex – Patrick because he was concerned about David, and David because… because, Patrick didn’t know.

Patrick hadn’t slept well either when he first moved in to the apartment, but that was because he’d been feeling all weird and wound up about Ted.

He didn’t know why David couldn’t sleep. And he didn’t know why it was taking him so many goes to get his clothes organised the way he wanted. And he _really_ didn’t know why he’d decided to rearrange the kitchen. He knew his fiancé was very highly strung, he’d known that from day one. And he knew that he’d been freaking out over the big changes of getting engaged and moving in. Patrick was aware that this was David’s first ever long-term relationship, certainly the first time he’d so much as considered marriage, and his first romantic cohabitation.

Still didn’t explain the cups, though.

‘No.’ David spoke very matter-of-factly as he took the cups off the work surface and put them back into the pasta cupboard.

‘David, I’m not going to let your Davidness win on this one. If you learn to cook, then you can have some input into how the kitchen is arranged.’ Patrick took the cups back out again.

‘They need to go there.’

‘No, they don’t, they need to go in the cups cupboard.’

‘This is the cups cupboard, now!’

They were now furiously taking out and putting back the same three cups, over and over again.

‘I don’t know what this is, David, but you are still very obviously freaking out, and you need to see that you are being irrational and I am not going to indulge you on this one because it feels like if I do, it’ll only get worse.’

‘Just let me tidy the cups.’

‘And then what? You rearrange your knits again? Or run off to have one of those mysterious half hour meetings with Stevie like you have done every night since you moved in?’ 

‘I just… it isn’t right, yet.’

‘Because you’re freaking out, and I honestly think it’s making you sick. David. It’s not the cups, or the clothes. It’s something bigger. We both know it.’ He paused. He really didn’t want to say what he knew he needed to say. ‘If you need to go slower with this, move back to the motel, maybe put the engagement on pause for a year or two…’

‘No, no!’ David’s voice was getting loud. ‘No, we’re great, I’m great, this is all great, so great, I just need to…’ He picked up a cup.

‘No, you don’t need to.’ Patrick snatched the cup off him.

‘Give me the cup.’

‘No.’

‘Give me the cup!’

‘This cup’s mine, you can’t have it.’

‘Patrick.’

‘In fact, I’m tired of this cup, maybe I’ll smash it. What happens if I smash it?’

‘Don’t.’

‘What happens if I smash the cup, David?’

‘Give me the cup!’ David stepped forward and yanked the cup forcefully out of Patrick’s hand, hurting his fingers, but that wasn’t what horrified Patrick. It was David’s voice, or rather, that David’s voice suddenly wasn’t recognisable as David’s voice. Raised in genuine anger, it lost all of its Davidness. It became some different guy, some angry, yelling man, and for the first time ever, Patrick wasn’t merely aware of how much bigger David was than him; he actually felt intimidated by the size disparity.

They both stopped dead, David’s expression shifting suddenly as he saw the flash of fear in Patrick’s eyes. He blinked, and looked at the cup in his hand, and then back up at Patrick, and was David again.

‘OK, so,’ said David, softly, placing the cup gently back on to the work surface, ‘so I’ve lost my mind…?’

He looked around the apartment at the half-arranged knits, and at the cups.

‘I have actually lost my mind.’ David clutched at his hair, looking around the apartment again as if only just seeing it. ‘I have lost. My mind.’

‘It’s going to be all right,’ Patrick told him, feeling lame that this was all he could think of to say.

David shook his head and stuttered out an ‘mm-mm’, no.

‘You’re just freaking out a little worse than I anticipated – we’ll work this through. I think you’re finally seeing that you’re not OK at the moment, and that’s a very important first step, and…’ He watched David. His fiancé was going an odd colour. ‘And the second important step is that you need to breathe…? Right now…?’

David’s face had screwed up. He looked for a moment as if he was about to cry, but that wasn’t it. He was struggling. Patrick had seen this once before, at college, when a friend had had a severe allergic reaction. 

David couldn’t breathe.

Patrick rushed over to him and made him sit. ‘I’m calling for an ambulance.’

David grabbed his sleeve and shook his head.

‘David, you can’t breathe! People need to breathe!’

David shook his head again, and sucked in a shallow, noisy breath. The breath came out again, too quickly, in loud gasps. Another shallow rasp followed it, again, much too quickly. Patrick dumped the groceries onto the table and offered David the paper bag, but David pushed that aside as well. Patrick noticed that David had started staring down at the table in front of him, his thumbnail moving over the wood grain, as if he were counting the lines.

After a few, horrible minutes, David’s breaths became something closer to normal.

‘Well, that was embarrassing,’ he managed, shakily.

‘You get those a lot?’

‘Not usually in front of other people.’

Patrick sat down, looking at him seriously over the table full of haphazardly dumped groceries.

‘How long?’

David waved a dismissive hand. ‘Years.’

‘They been getting worse, lately?’

David looked down at the table and nodded.

‘Since you moved in?’

‘And before? A bit? It’s… you’re going to think this is so stupid.’

‘We just had a blazing row over where a cup should be stored; I don’t think anything’s going to out-stupid that, today.’

‘When they started, way back, it was because my life had gone to shit. But the past few years, whenever they’ve come on, it’s been because my life’s been going good. Because, it’s like “what’s the cost”?’

‘The cost?’

David was still addressing the table, and his own thumbs. ‘There’s always a cost. I only got to meet you because my dad was ruined and humiliated, for years. The moment we announce our engagement, my mom’s dreams get ground into the dust. It’s like I’m loading up happiness debt on a joint credit card, and the universe keeps making other people pay it off. And what’s the next cost going to be? Something horrible happens to my little sister? Or maybe the universe decides that having let me build up my happiness debt, it gets to take it all away again. You, the store, this apartment, the gorgeous cottage we’re going to save for…’

‘David, the store is fine. We’re fine. And we haven’t even started thinking about houses yet.’ Patrick reached across the spaghetti and rice packets on the table and caught hold of David’s worrying thumb. His hands were shaking. ‘You’re not just going to lose everything all of a sudden for no reason, these things don’t happ…’ he trailed off.

David finally raised his gaze to meet Patrick’s and gave him a small, sad, ‘told you so’ smile. 

‘OK, so I guess that’s a rational fear for you, and maybe you’re still holding on to some trauma there. I can understand how you’re scared it might happen again.’

David nodded. ‘Less rational is my parallel fear that none of it will have happened. That somehow one day I’ll wake up in the old house, or my New York apartment, with all the money and all the toxic relationships, and no you, and no store, and no heart, just drugs and sadness.’

‘Yeah, I can promise you _that_ is definitely not going to happen. Pretty sure if I were a dream, I’d be richer and taller.’ Patrick paused. ‘So, that was a panic attack.’

‘Mm-hmm.’

‘You taking anything for those? Doing any therapy?’

‘Twyla’s yoga classes help?’

‘Twyla’s yoga classes.’

‘Yes.’

‘That she does when she can find the space, and the weather isn’t too hot or too cold, and she has the time, and she feels like it. Those very occasional, very irregular yoga classes are your only medicine against not being able to breathe.’

‘Yes.’

‘And you haven’t been sleeping.’

‘Mm, that comes and goes.’

‘Since?’

‘I moved to Schitt’s Creek.’

‘Fuck. And the weird shit with the cups?’

‘I honestly don’t know, I was spiralling. It was like, I knew something horrible was going to have to come to balance out how well things were going, but maybe I could hold it off if I was able to put stuff in the right position, like an aesthetic thing, like feng shui, almost, like…’

‘…OCD.’

‘Ugh, for the last time, I just have a good eye and like things tidy, that’s not OCD.’

‘No, I will accept that most of the time, you liking things in a certain place is just down to you being a massive Monica, but getting really intrusive thoughts and acting out compulsions as part of a bargain you’ve made with the universe is starting to sound a lot like actual OCD type behaviour.’

David glared at him, got out his phone, looked something up, then put his phone down again, still glaring. ‘Fuck.’

‘Do you often make “bargains” like that?’

‘Not much. Like, a half dozen times, maybe? In all? Only when I’m _really_ freaking out. ’

Patrick took his hand, again. ‘I don’t think this is just another frustratingly cute David Freakout. I think these might be symptoms of a genuine, longer term, underlying illness. Maybe a lot of what we’d written off as frustratingly cute David Freakouts were always symptoms of an underlying illness, just we never paid much attention to it before because you never actually got to the point where someone who loved you had to bear witness to you literally not being able to breathe. Have you seen _anyone_ professionally about any of this? Ever?’

‘Just Ted. He thought it was funny.’

‘Yeah, Ted’s a vet? And also very easily amused. I mean a proper doctor who doesn’t spend half his working hours elbow deep in cows.’

David shook his head.

‘I’d like you to. For me. Would you do that for me?’

David laid his head down, half on Patrick’s hand, half on the spaghetti. He was still shaking, which made the packets of dried food continually rustle. ‘If I go to the doctor about being crazy, though, that would make me officially crazy. Are you sure you want to be married to a crazy person?’

‘I wanted to be your business partner after receiving a string of increasingly nonsensical voicemails from you. The first time I desperately, desperately wanted to kiss you was after you’d attempted and failed to sabotage your own store launch. I had to stop myself proposing on the spot after you ordered me to go on a date with another guy and then panicked about it all night. I very definitely want to marry this very hot, very messy hot mess.’ Patrick ran his fingers through David’s hair. ‘But I want you to feel better. I want you to be able to sleep, and to breathe, and to stop messing with my pasta cupboard because you think the universe is blackmailing you. A doctor – a human doctor – might be able to help you with that. So you’re going. Tomorrow.’

‘Mmf,’ complained David.

Patrick was actually glad to have Bratty, Whiny David back. ‘Do I have to call Stevie for backup on this?’

‘I do not want you to call Stevie about this.’

‘No, you do not. So, you’ll go?’

‘Mmmnnn,’ grumbled David. 

‘Thank you,’ said Patrick. ‘I look forward to having my kitchen back the way I like it.’

‘I should probably also learn to cook, though.’

‘Yes, that would also be a good idea. It’s a pretty essential life skill. For a 36 year old.’

‘Oh God, when is _this_ going to stop?’

‘Planning on riffing on it for another week or so.’

That night, Patrick discovered that all of his underpants and socks had switched drawers, and been neatly folded. He drove David to Elmdale for an early morning appointment at a doctor’s clinic the next day, and sat holding his hand while medications and other treatments were discussed, and accepted.

It took a week for him to be able to put his cups back where he wanted, and by that point, David had learned how to bake a potato, boil an egg and make spaghetti bolognaise, and therefore demanded input into the kitchen storage arrangement anyway.


	13. So, So, So Not A Big Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antidepressants are so not a big deal. He just needs to let himself believe that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains reasonable usage of antidepressants (and the side effects they can cause), but also a conversation about abuse of and addiction to meds. David's sexual anecdotes continue to be awful. Contains a lot of introspection about mental illness, body image issues and self hatred, so TW for all of those. There are jokes though, and sexy bits, and a whole new bad accent.

THIRTEEN – So, So, So Not A Big Deal

‘Ugh. No.’

Patrick looked up.

‘Is this a Falafel situation, or…?’

‘It just isn’t working.’

‘David, we’ve only been trying for ten minutes!’

‘And usually with you something’s happened by now! Like, it’s been embarrassingly quick with you. For years.’

Patrick furrowed his brow. ‘Thanks?’

‘Nothing’s happening and this is stupid and I hate these stupid pills!’

‘OK.’ Patrick hauled himself up from between David’s legs and lay down beside him. ‘I’m not fully giving up on tonight, but let’s put this on pause for a pep talk.’

‘Another one?’ David sighed.

It was now a full three weeks since he had started taking sertraline, and God, he had never realized meds when actually taken as per instruction could be so very _boring_. He was sleeping now, mostly, but the pills gave him night sweats that made him feel disgusting, especially in bed with Patrick. Drinking on it wasn’t going to kill him or anything, but it wasn’t advised so Patrick had suggested they both have a dry six weeks together while he got used to the medication. So, he was a gross, sweaty mess who was keeping his fiancé from enjoying a beer on a Saturday night. 

Oh, and he had not come. Once. Since moving in to the apartment. His mother kept slyly smiling at him and talking about him “living in sin before the big day”, but ever since finally getting that space with Patrick that he’d craved for so long, they had been living in anything but sin, with the exception of three rather sad blow jobs for Patrick, with every offer of reciprocity awkwardly and unhappily turned down. His promised Love Nest had turned out to be nothing but a regular nest so far, just a bunch of dirty twigs. The panic spirals were much fewer and easier to keep a grip on now, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel low key crappy a lot of the time. 

And high key crappy whenever he turned down sex and Patrick gave him that disappointed-but-stoic-about-it face.

‘You know we’ve got all night,’ Patrick told him. ‘And, if it doesn’t happen tonight, tomorrow’s our day off and we have no plans. And if it doesn’t happen tomorrow… we’ve kind of got the rest of our lives. I’m not going anywhere.’ He laced his fingers with David’s. ‘I already invested way too much money in this to give up on us now. The rings, the store, the venue deposit…’ 

David managed a small smile at that.

‘I don’t quit on David Rose,’ continued Patrick. ‘Some day my prince will come. On my chest, hopefully.’

Patrick was trying to make him laugh. That man.

‘It’s just an irony worthy of the great Alanis herself,’ said David, ‘that antidepressants have turned out to be _the_ most depressing drugs I’ve ever taken.’

Patrick shook his head. ‘Not true. I’ve seen photos of you from your cocaine years. Those were bleak.’

‘For the last time, I was not “gaunt”. Medically speaking, I was a healthy weight, even though my methods for reaching it were admittedly very unhealthy.’

‘Yeah, I’ve also heard anecdotes from your cocaine years. The bleakness of which I speak has nothing to do with your weight.’

‘Well, I’m glad, because another exciting side effect of these things is that I could pile on a fair few pounds that I almost definitely can’t afford.’

‘Still don’t have an appointment to speak to a counselor about the body image issue then, I take it?’

‘I really don’t see how talking about my body is going to fix it, I just need to control the Shame Eating.’

‘And, we’ve also apparently forgotten that the doctor said a good first step would be to rebrand that term as “emotional eating”…’

‘Shame is an emotion! It’s one of the main ones!’

‘Oh, I am aware of how true that is for you.’ Patrick pulled their interlocked hands towards him, toying with one of David’s engagement rings with his thumb. ‘And I wish I could make you start actually liking your body, because I really love your body and I enjoy sharing things I love with you. But, as we have discovered a few times now, I am no expert on these matters, and me telling you you’re beautiful isn’t going to magically make you see it too. I don’t know how to go about showing you how to see it, or at least stop seeing ugliness that isn’t there.’

‘It _is_ there,’ muttered David, under his breath. He raised his voice a little, changing tack. ‘I went to therapy throughout like the whole of college and it didn’t change a thing.’

‘Maybe you were going to the wrong therapist. Maybe – more likely, knowing you – you were going trying to get a result that wasn’t the result you needed.’

David didn’t reply. Because, honestly? He still didn’t know what ‘the result he needed’ actually meant. Stop having stupid panic attacks and horrible OCD spirals? Sure. Sleep better at nights? Yes please. But the pills were, for all their pain in the ass side effects, helping with those.

He’d like to be able to come. That would be nice. For Patrick as well as himself. He’d like to stop worrying all the time; that his happiness came at a cost, because it was making it come true. The cost of his happiness had become the miserable guilt that his happiness was undeserved: a debt.

Could he let go of that? An irrational part of his brain still told him that if he did let go of that, he’d be punished by the universe. He knew that it was irrational, just as he knew that the irrationality was an outer shell to more rational fears and pain, pain based on truth, and he still didn’t have the courage to explore those.

His therapy in those times before had been all about locking those truths away, repressing them, telling himself they didn’t matter and storing them somewhere inside of himself so that they didn’t bother him or anyone else. So that they didn’t show. And as his 20s had continued he’d added more and more to that hidden place, deep down. A regular little Pandora’s Box back there. He was honestly quite scared of what might come out, were a new therapist to try to get him to open it up.

He knew what lay at the bottom. He always pictured it as a simple scrap of paper. A girl in one of his classes at college had been doing this interactive art piece where people wrote down secrets, and put them in a box, and once the box was full, she buried it out in the middle of nowhere. He’d found the concept incredibly soothing, so he’d given the earth his truth. He liked to think of it, out there, still lying silent in the ground even now.

_I think I hate David Rose._

Letting her bury that secret had imprinted on him pretty hard. He remembered the next time they went drinking together they’d made out and she’d rubbed him off through his jeans and he’d slipped under the bar table to give her head. It was just a funny, random moment. She never told her boyfriend back home. David was hung up on her for about a month.

Patrick was still talking. ‘I know you’ve locked a lot away, and maybe I’m not the right person to unload it on to. Maybe you’re worried about hurting my feelings, or worried about making me worry, or… I don’t know. If you _do_ want to talk, I’m here, but…’ he trailed off, with a sigh. ‘I think maybe counselling would help?’

‘It just feels like overkill. To be honest, the meds feel like overkill. Like I’ve given up on something.’

‘Seriously David, what are you supposed to have given up on? Not everything can be solved with raw kale, mineral water and repression. So many people are on anti depressants, and they’re still active and creative and quirky and _them_. Remember that Buzzfeed list I found you? And there’s so many others besides. I happen to be personal friends with one lady, a very unique and artistic woman, who is on goodness knows how many meds…’

‘OK, I believe I’ve asked you before to please stop invoking my mother while we’re in bed together. If I wasn’t put off before, then I am now.’

Patrick pulled an apologetic face. ‘Whoops.’

‘And besides, my mom’s not the best example, here. You grow up around a parent who medicates that much, who mixes what she’s prescribed by doctors and what she’s prescribed for herself… it could be scary. Dad did his best to be the one who cared for her when she was bad, but sometimes it’d fall on me. And I wouldn’t want our kids to have to go through anything like that. I mean I love my mom dearly, and I know I’m a lot like her. A _lot_. Like, occasionally we’ll accidentally wear the same outfit, the apple really has fallen that close to the tree. And while I admire so much that she’s done, like her marriage, the way she builds up Dad even after all those years, that’s pretty adorable… I don’t want to turn into her. I think I _could_ turn into her. And it feels like getting hooked on meds is the start of a slippery slope towards that, if that makes sense.’

There was a pause. 

‘Well, that’s a lot to unpack,’ said Patrick after a moment.

David sighed, inwardly. He knew it. He’d already said too much.

‘Kids?’ added Patrick.

‘Hmm?’

‘You mentioned us having kids. That’s a new concept.’

‘Dogs,’ said David, quickly.

‘You’re worried about our dogs being scared of you taking too many meds?’

David nodded.

‘To be honest, David, us having dogs is also very new territory.’

‘House plants,’ said David.

‘Well,’ replied Patrick, evenly, ‘for the sake of our poor, scared house plants, it’s probably worth bearing in mind that the issue with Moira might not be that she takes antidepressants, but that she doesn’t take them the way she’s supposed to, and that a good way to avoid that is to read the instructions and follow what they tell you to do, as boring as I know that sounds to you.’

‘That’s what I have been doing,’ sighed David. ‘And for my troubles, I get to sweat like a pig and never come.’

‘Well, you’re not sweating now.’

‘I’m not coming now, either.’

‘Well,’ said Patrick, after giving a quick kiss to his knuckles, ‘I’d like to take another shot at rectifying that, if that’s OK with you?’

David rolled his eyes. ‘I mean, you can _try_…’

‘That’s the spirit.’

Patrick slid back down to the end of the bed, only releasing David’s hand when it became too awkward to keep a hold of it.

David tried to relax. It wasn’t a big deal if he couldn’t do it tonight… again… after about a month of nothing… making Patrick feel like he was doing something wrong… and the last time they even tried to have sex, he’d disgusted and distressed Patrick with that ‘hurt me’ nonsense…

Patrick was going with something low stakes, at least, which was appreciated. Just a very soft hand job for now, trying to coax David into some sort of state he could at least do something with. Gentle kisses on the flatter part of his lower belly, which he’d always liked.

He tried to exercise some mindfulness. Just thinking about the sensations that were happening right there and then. He was comfortable, and warm, and the man who he’d spent weeks getting utterly flustered over and initially thought could never be his was between his thighs, kissing around a line that he never made David wax, stroking him, consensually coaxing something that he would never force or manipulate or make him feel small or dirty over. Whatever it was that was missing right now, he still had trust. And they’d both worked hard to create that trust. That at least was earned. That was something.

‘Hey,’ said Patrick, softly. ‘There he is.’

He was starting to get hard, which was an improvement on earlier on in the evening. He had become hard before during this dry spell, mind; he could start, he just couldn’t finish.

Patrick moved his kisses down.

‘I still don’t know if I’ll be able to…’ whispered David.

‘Oh, well.’ A kiss. ‘Then you’ll have had your cock sucked all for nothing.’ Another kiss. ‘What a calamity.’ A lick. ‘For you.’ Another lick. ‘You should sell that sad story to one of those misery porn publishers.’ Small kisses along the shaft. ‘”He sucked my cock for half an hour and all I got was the nice sensation of getting my cock sucked: The David Rose story”.’

And then, the hot wetness of the mouth taking him in as far as possible. Yeah, Patrick had really come on in leaps and bounds, blow job wise, since those early days, with the choking and the gross condoms. He still had a sensitive gag reflex, but he worked with what nature gave him _extremely_ well. Patrick used his hands a lot during blow jobs; David was very fond of those fingers getting just about everywhere. One had already started to tentatively circle his ass – the first time anything sexy had happened in that area since the ‘hurt me’ incident, which he was _not_ supposed to be thinking about right now in case it made his erection go away again – he was supposed to be practicing mindfulness.

Patrick pulled away. ‘Would Sir care to sample a finger in the ass tonight? Or two?’ He kissed the inside of David’s thigh. ‘Or, a visit from The…’ he pulled David’s preferred plug out from where he’d stowed it under the sheets ‘…Ambassador?’

David managed a smile. ‘Well, you’d have to get the embassy ready first, but I can probably find ten minutes to entertain the Ambassador tonight.’

‘Very good, I shall send in the staff now.’

Patrick managed to finger him _and_ suck him _and_ give him that smug, self satisfied look he always did when he felt he was being funny and charming with David, all at the same time. And, he was right. This just felt nice. Whether David managed to come or not. This was more intimate stuff than he’d managed in weeks, and it was just nice in itself.

Patrick pulled off, again. ‘Do you want more of that, or…?’

‘I think I should greet the Ambassador now.’

Patrick waved the plug up around David’s chest.

‘Oh, hi, Ambassador,’ added David, breezily.

‘G’Day, cobba!’ replied Patrick, in something that was almost entirely nothing like an Australian accent.

That set David off into the giggles. ‘Why is he Australian?’

‘Well,’ continued the terrible accent, ‘he’s got to be an ambassador for somewhere, I didn’t want to do a racist accent and you already called shotgun on going British during sex and I didn’t want to copy that and make it weird for you, and Australian was the next one I thought of.’

‘Oh, well that makes sense, then. Thank you for not making this weird for me.’

‘No worries, Sport!’ Patrick started slowly sliding ‘the Ambassador’ into David – extra slowly in this case now, since David was shaking with silent laughter. ‘Crikey, this embassy’s bonza!’ He stopped again, looking up with that soft expression, like he was simultaneously looking at David and at something far beyond.

David was still laughing. ‘What?’

‘I feel like I’m getting you back. Like part of you had to go somewhere for a while, but it’s come back again.’

David nodded, lying back. He probably had a ways to go, yet, but he knew what Patrick meant. He suddenly realized that, as long as it had been since he’d last come, it had also probably been weeks since he’d last laughed.

‘That cock isn’t going to suck itself, you know.’

‘Oh, I _do_ apologise.’

He didn’t come, that night, but for once he didn’t feel shame or frustration over that fact. It had been a very nice blow job, after all. In the end, he came the next morning, when Patrick offered to ‘help him shower’. Both of them slipped at least once, the water turned lukewarm towards the end and David got water in his nose, and it was amazing.

They agreed it was probably better not to jerk one another off in the shower in future, because it was too small, and impractical as fuck, and then David decided he was going to teach himself how to make omelettes.

Somewhere, thousands of miles away, there was a small, wooden box, buried six feet underneath a desolate copse of trees. It was once full of secrets, but damp and rot had decayed the paper since then. Those secrets belonged to the Earth, now. She had eaten them all up, including a teenager’s hatred of David Rose.


	14. Ew, David

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexis comes home, at 3am, a month earlier than expected, which doesn't bode well. Even worse is what she accidentally walks in on in Room 7.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not only are David's anecdotes horrifying, but Alexis' are too. TW for discussion of & introspection about, drug abuse, kidnapping and sexual abuse.

FOURTEEN – Ew, David

The Uber driver had to shake Alexis awake. Jetlagged and sleep deprived from the few nights before deciding to come back early, it took her a moment to orient herself.

She was home. Yes. She’d decided to come home. What was it, 3am? Something like that. The whole place was so quiet. She still had her key – she’d slipped it into her handbag on autopilot before leaving – her dad had sent her some adorably stern texts about that. She wouldn’t bother anyone, this time of night. She’d just let herself in quietly, get some sleep and answer her family’s difficult questions when she was rested.

OK.

So.

So, with the benefit of hindsight, yeah she probably should have checked first to see if Room 7 was booked out, but she was super sleepy and she’d forgotten that David had moved out, and anyway the whole problem was caused by David not being moved out _enough_, so who was to say it wouldn’t have happened even if David had still been living there full time? This was David’s fault, really.

And yeah, maybe it would have been an idea to switch on a light when she came in. Maybe she could have turned off the white noise app she’d had running in the Uber, but she was so sleepy still and the white noise in her ear buds had made her feel just super chill and she didn’t want to end that. And she really didn’t want to alert anyone to her sneaking in at 3am a month ahead of schedule because, ew, awkward convo at that hour? No thanks.

She quietly slipped inside, in the dark, breathing in the smells of home. She parked up her cases, and took off her shoes. The muscle memory of pacing that tiny room all those years kicked in instantly as she walked silently on bare feet to her bed - _her_ bed, she could sleep in her own bed, again. She flopped with relief onto her own bed.

Which was not there.

Her butt hit thin air and kept going, landing heavily on the carpet. She cried out in pain and surprise, and then all Hell broke loose.

She only remembered her brother had moved out at the very moment that her brother started screaming, which was weird because he had moved out.

‘Call the police!’ That wasn’t David; that was Patrick?

A shoe flew over her head. ‘Argh! It’s me!’

‘Johnny, our boys!’ Oh great, and now her mom was awake and hysterical in the next room. And, ew, “our boys”? What, was she being replaced by Patrick, now? In her own room?

Somebody found a light just as her father burst into the room. ‘You stay away from them!’ He was brandishing a kettle. He froze.

‘Alexis?’ David blinked at her for a second, then threw another shoe. ‘What the _Hell_?’

‘No, _you_ what the Hell! You moved out!’

‘And you were in Galapagos!’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘What are _you_ doing here?’

‘What are _YOU_ doing here??’

‘It was a date,’ interjected Patrick, looking embarrassed in a bedspread toga.

‘It’s the store’s 3rd anniversary, we took the boys out for a celebration dinner,’ sighed Alexis’ dad, ‘and they mentioned they’d never actually spent the night together at the motel in their courting days, because… well, because you were always there, Alexis. And the room was free tonight, and, you know… sometimes it’s romantic to revisit one’s old haunts…’

‘Um, OK, so,’ Alexis addressed her brother. ‘You decided for your business’ birthday to have sex yards away from our parents, because it was romantic?’

‘Well, when you put it like that, you make it sound dirty and weird…’

‘Alexis, don’t be a child,’ called her mother from the other room, ‘there was nothing untoward about it, no clandestine adult noises were overheard, we simply put the television on at mid volume.’

‘Oh, God,’ breathed David.

Alexis slumped. ‘Ew. So, where am I supposed to sleep, now?’

‘Um.’ Patrick had started picking up his clothes. ‘I actually think I’m gonna go home.’

‘Ugh.’ David lay back in the bed. ‘See what you did, Alexis?’

‘What?’

Patrick headed towards the bathroom, to get dressed. ‘Are you coming too, David, or…?’ Alexis noticed Patrick lock eyes with her brother and give a concerned looking nod of the head in Alexis’ direction.

‘I’ll stay here for now,’ David told him, ‘sorry about my family.’

‘Three months from it being my family too,’ Patrick said, closing the bathroom door.

‘They’re both going with “Rose-Brewer”,’ Alexis’ father announced, with a quiet pride. ‘They told us tonight. Another Rose boy.’ An odd smile played around his lips. ‘Well, if we’re all settled for sleeping arrangements for the rest of the night, perhaps we should hit the hay. Alexis, sweetheart, you look exhausted. Let’s catch up once you’ve had some sleep. On your news, and why you’ve… on all of your news.’ He paused. ‘Night.’

Her dad retreated back into Room 6, shutting the door.

David pulled a David Face at her.

_What?_ She mouthed.

_Why are you here?_ He mouthed back at her.

_Ughhh_ She gesticulated.

Patrick came out of the bathroom, dressed. ‘See you at the store, David? I can open, if you need to catch up. On sleep, or whatever.’

He leaned over David, still in the bed, and kissed him, and it made Alexis think of Ted in a sicky, twisty stomach kind of a way.

‘Thank you,’ said David. ‘And sorry, again.’

‘It’s fine.’ Patrick gave Alexis a small, sympathetic smile. ‘It’s great to see you again, Alexis. We all missed you.’

Alexis was surprised by how much she suddenly felt like she’d really needed to hear that. ‘Thank you, Future Best Brother!’

‘Nice,’ breathed David.

‘And Happy Storeversary,’ Alexis added to her Future Best Brother, as he left.

David swung himself into a seated position, also draping himself modestly in the other (her!) bedspread. ‘Sit,’ he sighed.

She did so. 

‘Why are you here, and why do you look so sad?’

‘It’s nothing,’ Alexis told him. ‘It’s fine. I just got super homesick, and there was only one more month to go, so Ted was like “it’ll be fine, you go on ahead, help your brother with wedding plans”. So, I did, and I just found you being all naked and snippy at me in my own bed. Which, by the way, can I have my bed back please? And also have you in some clothes, because gross, David.’

‘Yeah, good idea.’ David stood, made a startled expression and scooped up his clothes with some urgency. ‘Oh yeah, give me a sec.’

‘You OK?’

‘Yep. Gravity just interacted with certain bodily fluids for the first time since they found their way into a certain cavity.’

He shot into the bathroom, closing the door. Alexis thought about this for a second, then made a show of dry retching to the empty room. 

‘Oh, ew, David!’ She pushed the beds apart, while trying to touch them as little as possible. ‘I can’t believe you expect me to sleep in a bed my own brother got buttfucked in!’

‘You were in Galapagos!’ Came David’s voice from the other side of the bathroom door. ‘And besides, even in terms of these beds, that boat has very much already sailed, with Jake.’

‘Ewww!’

‘And Stevie.’

‘Ewwwwww-uh! Don’t tell me that, I still have to _speak_ to Stevie!’

‘Would you two mind keeping the volume of your sodomy discussion down?’ Alexis’ mother called from the other room. ‘We’re aware that you’re sexually liberated adults, but it is very late at night, and we can still hear you clear as day. And David, perhaps you should reconsider how readily you partake in that act, while it can be a lot of fun…’

‘Moira…’ attempted her father’s voice.

‘…it can be fraught with risk, both physical and emotional,’ continued her mother, undeterred, ‘for one, if you allow it all the time, it can make you seem a little too keen.’

‘Moira.’

‘All I’m saying is, David dear, maybe save it for special occasions. Anniversaries, birthdays…’

‘It _was_ an anniversary!’

‘Oh! So it was. Night, children!’

‘…night, kids,’ added their father, lamely.

But Alexis wasn’t listening, any more. Alexis’ attention had been diverted entirely to the full box of sertraline she’d just found in the overnight bag under where her bed had been.

Oh, no.

David was stealing Mom’s meds again.

David came back in from the bathroom after a while, went out briefly, came back with clean sheets and helped her make her bed.

‘Ew,’ said Alexis, her voice low, ‘what did you do to my bed? The sheets are soaked.’

‘Just good old fashioned man sweat.’

‘Yuck, David.’

There was a silence.

‘So…’ they both said, together.

‘You first,’ said David.

‘So,’ murmured Alexis. ‘Does Mom suspect?’

‘What?’

‘I found the pills in your bag, David. Is that why you came back here?’

‘You went through my bag?’

‘They were on the top.’ Alexis wrestled with a pillowcase. ‘I thought you were, like, getting healthy or whatever. Not taking anything stronger than weed.’

‘Alexis, those pills are medicine. That’s all.’

‘Um, yeah. Mom’s medicine. Like you were sneaking from her since you were 15.’

‘Wow, OK, first, you would also steal Mom’s meds. And secondly, Alexis, those pills are not Mom’s.’ He pulled out the box and passed it to her. ‘They’re mine.’

‘What?’

‘Read the label.’

Alexis looked at the label. They were prescribed for David. ‘Ew, no. David, what is this? How did this happen?’

‘Well, I was sick, I went to the doctor, the doctor gave me medicine to stop me feeling so sick. Turns out, that’s how doctors work.’

‘You got sick while I was away?’ Alexis stared down at the pack. She was still so tired and jetlagged just generally weirded out by just _stuff_ in general and the gross thoughts, and this was not helping at all. She _knew_ something would happen to David if she left! ‘I still don’t see how this would help. This is one of Mom’s drugs, I recognize the name.’

‘Yeah. Mom’s a little too highly strung. So am I. You knew that. These help.’

‘But that’s just you doing you. You don’t need help for that.’

David took the box back off her, gently. ‘I’m still me. But, you remember when we moved here, and I couldn’t sleep? Or those times when I couldn’t get out of bed? Or that time I kept putting our toothbrushes in a line?’

Alexis snorted a soft, nervous laugh. ‘Yeah, what was that about?’

‘Um.’ David sat on the bed. ‘So, what that was about is, I’ve been diagnosed with a bunch of different anxiety disorders, that all sort of inform and feed off one another. Panic attacks, BDD, occasional OCD when the anxiety spikes, which was what the toothbrushes were over.’

Alexis sat down. She felt horribly sad. ‘David, no. You got _super_ sick. Was it me leaving?’

‘Alexis, I’ve been like this for years. Possibly forever. I just had a really bad spell over getting engaged and moving out of the motel. Snapped at Patrick. It was pretty bad. So I finally got some help, and here we are.’

Alexis looked down at her hands. ‘But I don’t want you to be sick.’

‘Well, you and me both, and that’s why I take medicine, now.’

Alexis reached out and brushed her hand against his. ‘Wait, you were going to say something, too.’

‘Oh, yeah,’ replied her brother. ‘So, um, what the fuck are you doing back here at 3am, a month before you should? And don’t say planning the wedding, Patrick and I are doing perfectly well at planning it by ourselves. Yes, there is a mood board, yes you may see it in the morning.’

Alexis clapped her hands at the promise of a mood board, but her heart wasn’t in it.

‘Clearly, everything is not OK,’ continued David. ‘What is it? That stupid, handsome cow doctor break up with you or something? Because if he did, I shall post something _scathing_ about him. Online. Like, really mean.’

‘Don’t call Ted a stupid cow doctor, David. We’re fine. Totally fine. Better than fine. Which is… maybe not fine? But only for me.’

‘Uh oh.’

‘It’s just, you know how me and Ted and you and Patrick are like _the_ power couples round here?’

David nodded, seriously.

‘Well, it means I can’t help comparing us to you guys, sometimes.’

David pulled a face that was only half sarcastic. ‘B’aww.’

‘And I kind of… after you two got engaged, I couldn’t stop thinking about maybe that. For me and Ted.’

David drew breath to make a smart-ass comment, so Alexis held a finger up in his face. 

‘For realsies this time, though. Like, actual me and Ted forever, yes please.’ She paused. ‘So… I kept thinking about maybe me asking him.’

‘It is probably your turn,’ replied David, with a twisted up, proud-of-her smile.

‘Like, get him a man ring like Patrick did, or a new leather jacket, to replace, you know. The one he bought with the money from selling off the ring he got for me. After I broke his cute lil heart.’ Alexis looked down again. ‘But every time I start thinking about it, I think about how sad I made him the first times we were engaged, and I just… I just keep feeling like I’m not…’

‘Not good enough?’

Alexis frowned. ‘Yeah. Like I’m…’

‘Hot garbage?’

‘Ew. But also yes?’ She looked across at her brother. 

He calmly gestured to himself. ‘Behold Hot Garbage Island. Even with the pills. Just a big old landfill of body temp trash.’

She didn’t know which was worse – the mental image or how much it resonated. ‘It’s like no matter how hard I try to earn Ted, I know it’s still not enough for… for the universe. Like it’s watching, and judging, all “no, no, we can’t put that nice man with the hot garbage, it would ruin the balance”. Like it’ll try to fix it, somehow. Does that make sense to you?’

David was looking at her weird. Weirder than normal.

‘Do you ever imagine getting our old lives back?’ he asked after a moment. 

‘Kind of,’ Alexis admitted, ‘but not the same way I used to.’

She would imagine scooping all of the money, all paper money, into a pile, like leaves in the fall, and dousing the pile in lighter fluid and just watching the fucker burn. She could picture it now, the cinders floating up into the air, still glowing, caught by an updraft, spinning out of sight, all orange glimmer and twisting smoke. That’s how she imagined “getting it back”. She thought about it all the time, watching the embers, laughing in the dancing light.

‘I imagine refusing it. I wouldn’t go back. Not ever. Not now I’ve seen…’ she tried to unjumble her thoughts. ‘That world had no Teds. No Patricks. Not even any Twylas or Stevies. The girls in that world were mean. And the men were…’

‘Horrible,’ interrupted David. ‘Hot garbage creators. Manipulators. Users. In your case, often literally kidnappers.’

‘Mm.’ She tried not to let that thought, those memories, land. Just keep them dancing in the air, just funny little moments passed, let them spin, what fun, what fun, Alexis got kidnapped like half a dozen times and more dark stuff besides, but she’s OK now, it’s not happening to her any more, it’s gone, it just gives her lots of exciting ice breakers. Let them spin, Alexis. There’s no weight to them, they’re just little glowing nothings.

‘In _my_ case,’ attempted David, but he faltered. He started again. ‘They didn’t just kidnap you because they wanted to look at a pretty thing though, did they? People like that hurt people like us.’

Don’t let them land, Alexis.

David’s voice grew quieter. He took her hand. ‘In my case, I got… hurt. In, um. In ways… I still can’t say the word.’

Don’t let them land.

‘Me neither,’ whispered Alexis. ‘And, me too.’

Her own brother. Her own self. Don’t let them land, Alexis. They’re just specks of light, now. Leave them to float away.

‘You’re good enough, Alexis. And you deserve happiness. It’s earned.’ David paused. ‘The universe told me so, we have a WhatsApp group, the universe and I.’

Alexis gave him a small smile. ‘So I’m not hot garbage?’

‘No, we’re both hot garbage, still. But almost everybody else is, too. They’re just good at hiding the garbage stench.’

‘Thanks,’ said Alexis, and meant it.

Then David did something that surprised her. He cradled the side of her head in his hand and kissed her on the temple, like a mom kissing away a boo-boo (on TV – her own mom was never a big boo-boo kisser).

‘I missed you.’

They sat for a moment and allowed themselves to digest that moment.

‘So, if you think you’re hot garbage and you get pills, do I also get the hot garbage pills?’

‘That is not for me to say,’ David told her, ‘but I can direct you to an excellent doctor in Elmdale if you want to ask a professional.’

‘Yes, but you have the hot garbage pills right now…’

She made a snatch for the box.

‘Quit it, you fucking haunted scarecrow! That’s my medicine!’

She woke up at 2pm. Her brother was gone, but there was a doctor’s card in her purse that hadn’t been there before. She made herself a tea, looked at the card and checked her phone.

**TED:** Hope you got back OK. Give your family my best. I love you so much & I’ll see you in 4 weeks! Have a TURTLEY awesome time back home! 

And then there was a picture of him giving a thumbs up next to a turtle.

**MOM:** Didn’t want to wake you my lambkin, your father and I will see you for dinner at the café. Mom.

**DICKFACE:** Haha we fell asleep in the same bed. Mom said something about a family dinner. SOUNDS INTENSE. Come round & see my Mood Board after.

**TWY:** Hey I hear you’re back! Swing round, I found a mark on the wall that looks just like Princess Diana & I wondered with your royal connections if you might know what it’s trying to tell us?

**PATRICK:** Apparently we’re having you over after dinner for drinks and mood board? PS sorry again about the awkward situation last night.

**STEEVES:** So I hear ur back. Everything OK?

She sent Ted a happy selfie, and thumbs up emojis to her mom, brother, Twyla and Patrick. Stevie, on the other hand, demanded a more detailed and nuanced response.

YOU PEGGED MY BROTHER ON MY BED???

There was a pause, and then the tell-tale dots.

**STEEVES:** Yeah, I’d like to apologize for that  
But I can’t. I am insanely proud of that one  
Sorry not sorry

Alexis went back to drinking her tea and looking at the doctor’s card.

**DICKFACE:** ALEXIS STEVIE IS TEXTING YOU A BIG FAT LIE IGNORE IT

**STEEVES:** Sorry I got ur brother to call me Daddy

**DICKFACE:** I NEVER SAID THAT

Alexis screamed at her phone.


	15. Someday We'll Find It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stevie, in her role as David's Best Woman, texts Alexis to ask about funny stories from their childhood, and makes a happy discovery.

Someday We’ll Find It

**STEEVES: ** Hey Alexis it’s Stevie. Can I ask u a favor?

**ALEXIS ROSE: **Hey Steeves!!! Of course you can bbzzzz xox

**STEEVES:** OK so my 1st favor is pls stop calling me steeves  
2ndly ur brother asked me to be his best woman, which was foolish of him, so do u have any funny stories about him from when u were kids?

**ALEXIS ROSE:** BEST WOMAN OMG CUUUTE  
I’m being like a sort of maid of honor groomsmaid thing  
The important thing is that my dress for it is so gorge  
He’s getting like one of his vendors to make it bespoke  
So are you going to be looking super cute in a lil tux or are you getting a dress made too?  
OMG are we going to be dress twinsies???  
Oh wait you asked about funny stories  
I have so many OMG

**STEEVES:** I am very excited to hear all of them

**ALEXIS ROSE:** Muppets is 1 of my faves

**STEEVES:** This sounds very promising

**ALEXIS ROSE:** OK so you know how we were both kinda child actors in the day?

**STEEVES:** I do, and it’s a source of constant delight to me

**ALEXIS ROSE: **Did you know David got down to the last 5 to play the kid in Muppet Treasure Island?

**STEEVES:** I DID NOT  
THIS IS AMAZING INFORMATION  
BEST THING I HEARD ALL WEEK  
THIS NEWS HAS CLEARED MY PORES  
THAT KID HAD A WHOLE SONG  
I’M YOUTUBING IT NOW  
OH GOD

**ALEXIS ROSE: **ikr???

**STEEVES:** THIS COULD HAVE BEEN LITTLE DAVID???  
WHAT WAS HE, 13? 14?

**ALEXIS ROSE:** 12 when he did the audition tape I think

**STEEVES:** !!!!THERE WAS AN AUDITION TAPE????

**ALEXIS ROSE:** Of course! Singing his little song

**STEEVES: ** ALEXIS I NEED U TO LEAVE TED AND COME MARRY ME  
U HAVE MADE ME THE HAPPIEST GIRL

**ALEXIS ROSE: ** so cuz he was in the final 5 he had to go for a screen test  
In the little urchin outfit  
Singing to the puppets  
He practiced the routine over & over for like 3wks  
Practiced his lil english accent  
Just constantly singing it & doing the moves hed worked out  
You know how he gets  
You still there?

**STEEVES: **Sorry I briefly died and went to heaven  
So I take it from the fact that the kid in the movie is not David that it didn’t end well

**ALEXIS ROSE: **OMG that’s the best part  
He fucking nailed the song & that’s according to MOM so not one to give us false complements  
But they couldn’t cast him  
Cuz he was scared of the muppets

**STEEVES: ** What

**ALEXIS ROSE: ** Like he has been all his life?  
Dad was surprised he even went for the part cuz he couldn’t even watch sesame st  
But he was determined  
He tried to desensitize himself or something by constantly watching old muppet movies when he wasn’t rehearsing  
But that just made it worse  
Got totally stressed & worked up  
& than at the screen test every time gonzo went near him he would do this full body flinch  
Like when a bug flies near him

**STEEVES:** Oh no  
Baby David

**ALEXIS ROSE:** mom called him a brave little thespian  
We all had to take him for ice cream  
It was the most amazing day

**STEEVES:** So what ur telling me is that there exists somewhere both his audition tape and a screen test tape of Tiny David singing that Something Better song?  
Alexis u have given my life new purpose  
I have never felt so alive  
As Satan is my witness I shall find one of these tapes  
And when I have seen it I can die happy  
And u must bury me with the tapes  
So I can take them to Hell with me  
And watch it again in Hell, use it as leverage to make new friends

**ALEXIS ROSE: **Finding them might b hard  
Mom & dad lost so much shit with the house  
Lost david’s high school diploma, all our baby teeth & etc  
Some stuff went 2 storage but idk if the tape was saved

**STEEVES:** ur parents kept ur teeth??

**ALEXIS ROSE:** I can give u the key to go thru the storage stuff tho, but last time we had 2 search in there everything was kinda damp so good luck there I guess  
Yeah mom kept our teeth isn’t that normal?

**STEEVES: ** I’m about to go on an unholy quest to find footage of my best friend & kind of ex auditioning for muppets aged 12 for my own amusement & possibly that of his doting fiancé. I don’t know what normal is any more  
But know that I love you for this info, thank you SO much 

**ALEXIS ROSE:** U SO WELCOME STEEVES

**STEEVES:** Gonna let the steeves thing slide purely because u have changed my life today  
Ps yes I think we are being dress twinsies  
And I will have my vengeance upon him

\- 

**STEVIE:** Patrick how much do u love me?

**PATRICK (DAVID’S):**7\. I love you 7.

**STEVIE:** Prepare to increase that to at least 8

**PATRICK (DAVID’S):** What have you done?

**STEVIE: **Nothing yet. I’m just going to send u screenshots of Alexis texts, hang on

**PATRICK (DAVID’S): **Oh my GOD

**STEVIE:** RIGHT????

**PATRICK (DAVID’S): **Do you have ANY IDEA how much I LOVED The Muppets as a kid?  
I still do even now, but I had posters on my bedroom wall and everything.

**STEVIE: **Unrelated to any of this I need to tell u how much I enjoy the mental image of Patrick the Muppet Baby  
It suits you. You have a lot of Kermit energy

**PATRICK (DAVID’S): **And I take that as a compliment.

**STEVIE:** I see myself more as a Stadtler and/or Waldorf  
Johnny’s Sam Eagle

**PATRICK (DAVID’S): **YES. SAM EAGLE!  
I like that we probably both already know which Muppet Energy my wonderful fiancé has, but we’re both too polite to say

**STEVIE: **Hi-ya, frog!

**PATRICK (DAVID’S): **Never say that in front of him (you are correct).  
Oh God, thank you so much for sharing Alexis’ anecdote. Made my day.  
I saw Muppets Treasure Island at the movies twice! And on video SO MANY TIMES.

**STEVIE: **Oh well this makes everything so much better

**PATRICK (DAVID’S): **If he’d gotten the part I’d have had my FUTURE HUSBAND’S picture on my bedroom wall WHEN I WAS 11.  
It’s already weird that my future father in law was my 1st boss & my mom used to watch my future mother in law on TV but this is AMAZING.

**STEVIE: **If he’d got the part & you watched him playing a pirate boy your whole childhood wouldn’t that have made dating him weird though?

**PATRICK (DAVID’S): **Probably in reality, I’d have recognized him and been too star struck to even give him my card.  
Still, though.  
Oh God, he’d have nailed that part, I can see it now. And he faced his fears!  
We NEED to get one of those tapes. I’m pre-emptively so proud of him.

**STEVIE:** I’m going to look through the Rose’s storage lockup tomorrow

**PATRICK (DAVID’S):** I just realized something.  
I’ve heard David’s ‘English accent’, and it’s not the sort of thing that would get him shortlisted to play an English character in a movie…  
Which means…  
Either Johnny & Moira pulled some strings, or…  
He’s been able to actually do a decent English accent all along and he’s just been pretending to do it badly – FOR YEARS – because it always makes me laugh.

**STEVIE: **Oh Patrick

**PATRICK (DAVID’S): **I know.

**STEVIE:** I think my just felt my hollow husk of a heart beat again

**PATRICK (DAVID’S): **I love him so much.  
Is there any way one can marry someone twice?  
Like double marry him, be married to him twice as hard?  
Stevie, you’re Best Woman, go and find out.

**STEVIE: **Not in my job description  
I’m finding u that tape. And if it’s not there I’m phoning the Jim Henson Company. I shall not rest

**PATRICK (DAVID’S): **You were right. I do love you 8.

**STEVIE: **I love u 8 too

**PATRICK (DAVID’S): **Ticking towards 9.

**STEVIE: **Woah, that’s high, if 10 is double married

**PATRICK (DAVID’S): **Oh, David tipped over a 10 years ago.  
When he did a treetop challenge because a magazine quiz made him fear for our love he went all the way up to 11 and I just had to keep adding to the scale.  
It’s at about 25 now.

**STEVIE: **So u only love me 9 out of 25?  
Fuck u, man  
I thought we were close  
Gonna find that tape for u anyway  
Get myself into double digits club

**PATRICK (DAVID’S): **OK he’s back, I should stop texting or he’ll notice. Love you 9!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes at the end because there's no TW, these two chapters are the last ones & I'm ending on pure silliness & fluff. Stevie has Patrick on her phone as 'Patrick (David's)' because she knows two Patricks. And I tried to get a few of Alexis' canonical 'wrong word but technically spelled correctly so spellchecker doesn't pick it up' malapropisms in.


	16. The Lovers, The Dreamers & Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rose-Brewer Wedding, told through several of the drinks that David ill-advisedly drinks there.

SIXTEEN – The Lovers, The Dreamers And Me

**Drink 1**

‘Knock knock. Are you decent?’

‘Am I ever?’

‘I think you probably should be today, considering you are 90 minutes away from being a married man.’

‘Then yes, I am decent.’

Stevie shuffled in to the room, looking red carpet perfect from the hairline up, and utterly Stevie everywhere else.

‘Alexis just did my hair,’ she explained, pointing at the updo.

‘I can tell. Your dress is hanging up over there. If you find the hem pooling around your toes, it means you’ve accidentally picked up Alexis’.’

Stevie pulled the shorter dress off its hangar. ‘You look nice.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Not nervous?’

‘Of course I’m nervous, have you suffered a concussion and forgotten everything about me?’

‘Thought you might be.’ Stevie pulled out a small flask from her giant pockets. ‘I figured, since you were able to drink at the bachelor party and didn’t keel over, you’d be OK to take a quick slug of whiskey for wedding jitters? It’s kind of a Budd family tradition.’

‘But I’m not marrying into your family, Stevie.’

‘No, I mean it’s a Budd family tradition for us to give our grooms a shot of pre wedding whiskey whenever we’re Best Men.’

She poured a couple of whiskeys out into the motel’s tea cups. He took one, and clinked it on hers.

‘I meant everything I said at the bachelor party, by the way,’ added Stevie. ‘Even the bit when we got super high and teary.’

‘So did I.’

‘Love you, man.’

‘Love you too, woman.’

They drank, and Stevie left with the dress. She didn’t realise that she was humming that _fucking_ song again.

**Drink 2**

‘Oh my God.’ Alexis fussed over him, and herself, and then him again. ‘Look at us both, David! So exciting! New clothes! I missed having new clothes so much!’

‘Mm, what an exciting day it is, for your wardrobe.’

‘Obviously it isn’t just that, David. It’s an exciting day for _your_ wardrobe too. Look at you, wearing a colour, good for you. _And_ you’ve managed to actually _lose_ weight on antidepressants, which I hear is a big achievement, so yay you.’

‘That’s due to having to cut right down on alcohol, but I will take the compliment.’

‘Today’s an exception though, right? Because I do believe we had a bet years ago over who would get married first, and I’m shocked that you beat me, but here we are.’

‘OK, but you can’t afford a Faberge Egg of Imperial Collection Vodka any more.’

‘No, but I can afford regular vodka and put it in a plastic egg that I spent forever decorating last night to look Faberge.’ She showed him her handicraft. It did look pretty Faberge, to be fair.

He accepted it, and took a swig from out of the hole that his sister had carefully cut in the top of the old Easter decoration. It tasted of cheap vodka and plastic. He loved it, and her.

**Drink 3**

His mother had already been crying, but the moment she saw him, she was off again with a fresh flood of tears.

‘My _baby_!!! How is my little boy getting married already?’

‘Again, Mom. Mid 30s. You had a well established marriage and two kids by my age.’

‘I know, David, but this is _you_ we’re talking about, dear. Kudos to you for pulling it off.’

‘OK,’ he sighed.

‘What your mother’s trying to say is that we’re both very proud of you, son,’ his father told him. ‘And we couldn’t ask for a better young man to add his name to the Rose clan than your Patrick.’ He paused, and cleared his throat. ‘And if I was ever… less understanding than I could have been, about your openness regarding gender and dating…’

‘Dad, it’s fine.’

‘Just know, I only ever wanted you to be happy. And for a while, the guys you attracted were… well. Everything turned out fine in the end, so, water under the bridge. Right?’

‘Right.’

His father pulled out a small bottle of brandy. ‘I, uh… my father and I had a brandy together, the morning before I married your mother, and he told me that he had done the same with my Grandpa the day he married _my_ mother. I thought, perhaps….?’

They all had a brandy together. Well. His mother had two.

**Drink 4**

_Mr & Mr Rose-Brewer_ said the envelope.

That meant him. He was one of those Misters.

After all those years, after years of thinking of himself having a wife some day and it feeling like a nice concept as an abstract, after weeks of looking at churches with Rachel and feeling like something was off, after starting anew and swearing off dating for a while and then falling in love with a whirlwind of defensive affectation, impractical knitwear and nervous fingers that had flustered and blustered into his life via Ray’s photo studio, he was a husband. He was Mr Patrick Rose-Brewer, husband.

It had been nothing like the wedding he’d assumed he would have, back in his old life. No church, surprisingly little fuss, considering the David of it all. Just a nice local vineyard, with a reception hall for their modest 50 guests, a local caterer and 4 piece band for the evening. Twyla had taken the Jazzagals’ lead for their entrance music. Moira had been in no fit state for a solo. His two cousins, in their roles as Best Man and… Groomsmaid, he guessed, had taken responsibility for the music while they walked back down the aisle. You truly have never heard Tina Turner until you’ve heard her played on the saxophone and French horn.

‘We didn’t know how to abbreviate “Misters”,’ admitted his mom.

‘Mr & Mr is fine,’ Patrick smiled. He pulled out the card, and laughed. ‘Did you draw this, Dad?’

‘There was hardly any choice in the same sex wedding card section,’ shrugged his dad. ‘They were all very boring, so. Did a little doodle of the pair of you, instead.’

‘It’s great.’ He opened the card, and his smile froze. ‘What?’

‘You don’t have to accept it,’ hurried his mom, ‘if that makes things awkward. Just, we saved. For you. When we thought you’d be marrying… um. And you ended up not needing that money, for this wedding, so we thought perhaps this could help towards the store, or towards a house.’

Patrick stared at the cheque, shakily.

‘You can’t stay in that little apartment forever,’ added his dad. ‘Where will our son in law keep all his weird clothes?’

‘This is…’ Patrick swallowed. ‘I want to say this is too much. I wish I could say this is too much, but it would make getting a place so much easier. We could… There’s a place I saw, real pretty with climbing roses, 10 minutes walk from the store, but it’s a three bed and it’s up for sale now, so I never imagined we’d scare up a deposit in time…’

‘A _three_ bed?’

‘Guest room, office… storage for David’s many clothes.’ It was only half a lie. That was, officially, what they’d said they’d do with two extra bedrooms if they could afford it. Unofficially, fostering and/or adoption had been mentioned. As a vague possible, for maybe a few years down the line when they’d had lots of time to mull it over. They certainly weren’t going to mention it to anybody else until they were certain it was something they both wanted and could commit to.

He looked across at the other Mr Rose-Brewer, helping himself to one of the flutes of Mimosa as Ray chatted to him. Patrick would tell him about the cheque later. After the wedding. Just in case it set David spiraling.

Rose cottage. It literally had their name on it.

**Drink 6**

Stevie couldn’t remember when she’d enjoyed a wedding more. For starters, she’d never got to be somebody’s Best Woman before. Secondly, she was pretty sure the other Best Man was in to her. She’d very much enjoyed the conversation where he’d tried to be all cool about the fact that his cousin’s new husband had a female Best Man, by saying that at least with a gay wedding there was no worry that the Best Woman had slept with the groom, and she had corrected him on several fronts over his assumptions. He’d become all flustered in a deeply adorable way. Maybe she didn’t need a Paul Rudd after all. Maybe she just needed her own Patrick, and James was, genetically speaking, around a quarter Patrick, which was a start.

She actually quite liked the dress, even though standing next to an identically dressed Alexis made her feel like one of those ‘what it looks like on the website vs what it looks like in real life’ comparison pics.

And, she was about to get to do a speech. 

Normally she hated public speaking, but this was going to be different, because she was going to get to do a big, public speech about David. To her and Patrick’s deep disappointment, she had yet to find any trace of David’s Muppet audition. The storage lockup had mostly been paperwork, a handful of family photos and a copy of Mr & Mrs Rose’s wedding tape. The Jim Henson Company had kindly written back saying that unsuccessful screen test footage of child actors wasn’t something that they would keep a hold of for a quarter of a century. She had tried to console herself that maybe this was actually for the best – that it was unlikely the reality could ever rival her own mental image of it. The whole thing had sent Patrick right back down the Muppets rabbit hole of his childhood, and he’d ended up watching and rewatching that damn song over and over again, with gooey eyes, muttering about what could have been. Stevie, usually a neutral party on the Muppets, had fallen right down the rabbit hole with him, her mind’s eye replacing the human actor with a youthed down David, like an overzealous Marvel movie flashback scene. They’d both learned the whole number by heart as a result, and had, as people who love David Rose very much and enjoy teasing him very much are wont to do, decided that her speech should be rounded off by a dramatic retelling of the Muppets Anecdote, followed by a full recital of the song, complete with interjections in their best Gonzo and Rizzo voices.

Stevie was so excited about it that she almost missed her own name being spoken. It was David’s speech first, and he was going through the admin of thanking the Groomsmaids and Best People.

‘So, I do have some things to say,’ continued David, ‘about my family, and my best friend Stevie, and my wonderful husband.’ He faltered. ‘But… I think what I _need_ to say, most of all, is about a time, in a different life, years ago. I’d wake up each day and wonder what for.’

Stevie’s eyes widened. Next to her, Alexis grabbed her elbow, silently.

‘And it seemed to me there must be something more.’

Stevie leaned back in her chair to meet gazes with Patrick, the other side of where David was standing. Patrick looked as surprised as her.

_Who told him?_ she mouthed.

Patrick shook his head – not him.

‘Something more than stacks of dishes and washing this old floor.’

Stevie turned to Alexis, her eyes Disney Princess Huge, her hand still grasping Stevie’s elbow, her mouth… her mouth twitching with the beginnings of a proud smile. 

Beyond, Johnny and Moira were both staring. They recognized this, too. Moira whispered something to her husband, who nodded.

‘If I had my pick of wishes, I’d wish me out that door.’

The rest of the guests just looked confused. This was certainly the first they’d heard about David ever getting made to clean dishes and floors.

Stevie looked up at her best friend. He shot a fond little ‘haha, fuck you’ glance at her, and then broke both into song and a surprisingly believable English accent.

‘Cause I’m hungry for adventure! And I’m fed up with this grind! If I don’t have some excitement soon, I’m gonna lose my mind!’

Patrick was already clapping, delighted.

Oh God, David was doing choreographed hand gestures, like he was interacting with an invisible prop broom. The routine Alexis had talked about. Stevie snuck another little look at the Roses, and Double Oh God, all three of them were doing the hand gestures along with him, on autopilot. How many times had he practiced that thing in front of them??

‘I want a life that’s filled with thrills both wild and free! There’s gotta be something better! Something better! There’s gotta be something better than this for me!’

Confused, Jocelyn tried applauding, but David just ploughed straight ahead over her. It seemed that the wedding was to get the entire song.

‘I look around here, and I want to cry…’

And Stevie didn’t _mean_ to add in Rizzo’s ‘ah, me too,’ it just sort of happened as an automatic reaction, after having watched the video so many times.

‘I feel like the world is passing me by…’

‘It is!’ Patrick declared, enjoying this way too much.

‘And I just can’t help but wonder, am I doomed to wash and dry? And is it a curse I’m under to do it til I die?’

‘I hope not.’

‘Yeah.’

‘When I could be an explorer…’

‘Sure you could,’ beamed Patrick.

‘Setting off to distant lands…’

‘Wait, not so fast,’ added Stevie, really wishing she hadn’t given herself the rat part.

‘Stead of spending every afternoon just getting dishpan hands! My future looks like nowhere that I want to be.’

And oh, this was the bit where they had to sing together. Patrick shot up onto his feet to join in with a harmony so fast that his chair nearly fell over. Oh good, so they were standing for the rest of this, then.

‘There’s gotta be something better! Something better! There’s gotta be something better than this for me!’

And were they going to go ahead and sing the Gonzo and Rizzo solos? According to Patrick’s vaguely Gonzo-like impression, they were.

‘If it’s weird and wild let’s go and find it, ha ha ha ha! The crazier the better is what I say!’

Well, looked like she was neck deep in this now. Less awkward at this point to carry on than it would be to stop.

‘To tell the truth, I really wouldn’t mind it, if we found somewhere with ten square meals a day!’

‘Let danger call my name!’

‘If it does,’ added Stevie, ‘I’m gonna hide.’

‘I’ll put my courage to the test!’

‘And I’ll be by your side…’

‘He’ll be by your side,’ sang Stevie, jerking a thumb at Patrick and starting to actually enjoy this.

‘There’s gotta be something better than this! (Something more than this!) I know that there’s so much out there to see! And I know this life I’m living can’t be my destiny! (Eee ee eee!) There’s gotta be something better! Something better! There’s gotta be something better than this for me!’

‘And me!’

‘Wait a minute, what about me?’

‘There’s something better than this for you and… (big finish!) Meeeeee!!!!! I NAILED that audition if it weren’t for those FUCKING PUPPETS!’

An utterly bewildered hall full of guests shrugged at one another and clapped. Few of them joined the rest of the Roses in giving them a standing ovation.

David pointed at his sister. ‘You’re a fucking bitch for telling them.’

‘It’s a funny story, David!’

‘How did you know?’ asked Stevie.

‘The pair of you have been humming that cursed song for weeks, now. I put two and two together.’ He raised his glass. ‘To love!’ He downed his Champagne-Like Canadian Sparkling Wine.

‘Easy on the wine?’ muttered Patrick.

‘Uh, it’s my wedding day and I just sang the big audition piece I blew before my voice had so much as broken to the entire town and your family. I deserve some fizz.’ He clasped both of their hands, lovingly. ‘Oh, and best of luck, following that.’

**Drink ??? 10?? 12s??? idk**

The invitations had said ‘carriages at midnight’, which had come and gone. Several of the guests were still lingering, even though the band was packing up and the vineyard’s events staff were starting to make fairly passive aggressive signals that they’d like to lock up and go home, now.

Patrick wasn’t sure where his cousin James was, or Stevie, which was a little concerning.

He certainly wanted to have a word with Stevie, who he had spotted handing David wine on three separate occasions.

It wasn’t that David didn’t deserve a drink or three on his wedding day, it was just that she had not been the only person giving him drinks and Patrick now had to start married life with a husband who was utterly, utterly, _utterly_ fucked. Just, the absolute drunkest he had ever seen David get. They’d tried do get him to do a last dance, but he’d shouted that if there was no last dance then the wedding would never end, and run off, laughing. He was back now, swaying drunk, in the middle of the floor, holding Mrs Rose’s shoulders while she talked at him. Mr Rose came over with Mrs Rose’s coat and put it over her, and annoyed as Patrick was about David’s drunkenness, Mr Rose’s small gesture towards his wife hit Patrick with a flash of 40 years into his own future, and he really didn’t mind that vision at all.

‘Moira, we’d better be leaving now, people keep clearing their throats at us.’

‘Ohhh Johnny no, how can you possibly allow this perfect soiree to ever end?’

‘Shhhh,’ was David’s only contribution to the conversation at this point.

Alexis swished over to them. ‘Ted’s getting us an Uber, you guys want to jump in on it?’

‘What’s an Uber? Sounds Teutonic.’

‘It’s an online taxi cab, dear.’

‘ShhhHHHHHH.’

‘Don’t shush your father, David.’

‘Zis ending?’ managed David.

‘No,’ his mother told him. ‘This is only just beginning.’

‘SsHHHushh!! Zlas dance.’

‘Oh, David, you missed that, you were running around the grape vines shouting that we’d never take you alive…’

‘SHHHHHH!’ David grabbed his father and sister and pulled them in to him, as well as his mother, and Patrick realized that his husband wasn’t just swaying drunkenly – he was drunkenly dancing to music that wasn’t there, and he wanted to do so with his family.

Patrick stood back and watched the four of them – his husband clinging to the shoulders of the rest of his family in order to stay mostly upright, dancing to some unheard beat that Patrick was pretty sure was in ¾ time; the rest of the family uncomfortably but lovingly indulging him.

Ted came over to join Patrick, watching them, faint amusement on his face. 

‘God, they’re weird,’ said Ted, fondly.

‘Yep.’

‘No regrets? Becoming a part of that?’

‘Fuck, no. You?’

‘Frick no, indeed.’

Whatever song had been playing in David’s stupid drunk head had come to an end with something that had warranted a wild three seconds of air drumming, and the Roses were released from their last dance. Patrick stepped over to physically support David now that Moira had managed to unlatch herself.

‘I think your husband may have had a little too much to drink, Sweet Patrick.’

‘Yes,’ smiled Patrick. ‘And huge thanks to all of you for supplying him with a never ending supply of wine and liquor. And special thanks to you, love of my life, for making the decision with your big, grown up head, to drink them all.’

‘M _his_ problem now,’ slurred David at his parents, with no small amount of pride.

Johnny clapped Patrick on the shoulder. ‘Best of luck with that, son.’

**Drk ?? idunno what the what thfucksths WATER?? Ptrick??**

‘Think I’m drunk,’ said David, falling into bed.

‘I think maybe yes you are.’

‘Did I ruin shit?’

Patrick shook his head. ‘Just a patch of sidewalk outside the apartment. And tomorrow. You have definitely written off the whole of tomorrow, but luckily we don’t go on honeymoon for another week. I think you might just about be over your hangover by then.’

‘But I paced myself.’

‘Did you, though? Bearing in mind you haven’t really drank in months, so you’re not used to it any more, _and_ it isn’t advised on your meds?’

‘I’m drinkin’ on Zoloft, woah-oh,’ sang David, faintly, ‘and it’s time to feel… really fucking dizzy.’

‘Yep! Keeping an eye on you, tonight.’

‘_Wedding_ night.’

‘It is that.’

David rolled over towards him, about as sexily as a flailing, beached octopus. ‘Weeeedding night.’

Patrick pushed him back, gently. ‘And we shall not be having sex, because you’re too drunk right now.’

‘I ruined wedding night??’

‘No, you did not. We can reschedule it, for a time that will be less creepy and triggery and did I mention creepy?’

David flopped back onto the bed, disappointed. Patrick took his hand.

‘It was a great wedding. Everyone had the best time.’ Patrick started laughing. ‘I can’t believe you sang the Muppet song.’

David snorted a laugh.

‘And you can do an English accent.’

‘I can do three. That one you heard, aristo.. arst… king, and Bristol, from banging with Hanksy.’

‘You have no idea how proud I am of Kid David for doing that audition. And Grown Up David for doing it again. You remembered all the words!’

‘Oh, that fucking song – that _fucking_ song is etched in my brain forever. Along with a zillion stupid Muppet songs.’

‘Alexis said you tried to desensitize yourself…’

‘Watched Muppet movie every day. Every day.’

‘So did I! But I did it because I loved it.’

‘Ew.’

‘You did it because you hated it. I love that.’ Patrick tenderly kissed the forehead of his big drunk husband who smelled of wine and puke. ‘I love you.’

‘Footloose and fancy free,’ sang David, ‘getting there is half the fun, come share it with me.’

Patrick joined in. ‘Moving right along, duggadun, duggadun, we’ll learn to share the load, we don’t need a map to keep this show on the road.’

If this were a movie, it might pan out at this point, at the end of a wedding, finishing on a song.

What it wouldn’t show you would be David needing to throw up twice again that night, both of them only getting three hours sleep and David being so hungover the next day that at one point he actually cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is a natural place to end. This was meant to just be a funny exploration of how sex that isn't idealistic can still be really fun & positive part of a romantic relationship, but it evolved into something much more introspective, about dealing with trauma and mental illness. It's just where the characters took me, I suppose. But I've ended it on a silly, because you can be self aware enough to try to work through your part traumas & mental health issues, AND be a silly arsehole who drinks too much at your own party. Huge thanks to everyone who commented, especially to share about their own MH experiences.


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